


we are the warriors who built this town

by SerpaSas



Series: your cities are a wilderland (look upon your children) [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Disabled Character, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Other, Panic Attacks, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, drabbles that are all fucking connected and chronological because I hate myself, the hundred - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5289629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpaSas/pseuds/SerpaSas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 drabbles for The 100. All in the same universe and ordered chronologically.</p><p>or: the Hundred live on the Ark, get arrested, fall to earth, try not to die, try to live, fall in love, fight wars, build villages, and get a happy ending</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. drabbles 1-5

**Author's Note:**

> do I hate myself? the popular opinion is yes, I must, because I've been writing this goddamn thing for eight months. it's featured many late nights and endless afternoons recruiting my sister to research what the hell kind of animals would live in that area of the world and what possible mutations they could have developed, me asking every person I spoke to 'do you think there would be bugs in space? like on a space station? what if they had a greenhouse? could fruit flies or honey bees survive the G force required to get into space?', too many weird headcanons to count, too many OCs to count, shipping main characters with people who've had all of two lines LITERALLY, gentle harassment of woodland survivalist types, and a lot of days spent in the middle of the woods with a machete to get into the right mindset. I hope you fucking enjoy this insanity because I sure as hell have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for:
> 
> -child neglect from the system (the kind that comes about when a kid doesn't legally exist)  
> -parental addiction, neglect  
> -underage drinking

1\. Learning (Bellamy)

When Octavia was four, you had realized with a jolt that she wasn’t ever going to go to school.

It was one of many such realizations you would have, over the years; that she couldn’t see a doctor when she caught the flu that was going around, unable to get treatment for the fever that burned her little body up; that she wouldn’t get a full ration of food just to herself, two people’s portions split three-ways for every meal; that she would have to wear the kid's dress your mother had stolen or traded for, that your sister couldn’t go to the redistribution centre when she grew out of it. Little rights and abilities that most took for granted, that weren’t possible for her.

The school thing is the most shocking, to you. The Ark has medicine shortages, food shortages, and its not like _anyone_ has many wardrobe options, but school is something every kid is allowed, no matter what station they live on or how important their parents are, whether they’re the skinny, sunken-eyed neglected kids or the ones with bright smiles and shiny hair.

But to go to school, you need to exist. And Octavia doesn’t.

So you get her a notebook and pencils, borrow things from the classroom that was yours when you were her age.

You teach her the alphabet and how to count to one-hundred, the names of colours and all the stories you learned in school that the mythology your mother reads the two of you didn't tell. You show her how to hold a pencil right, sort of pinching instead of clutched in a fist, and Octavia copies the shapes of letters and numbers again and again until they’re instinct, have her say the sounds each letter makes as she writes them down.

She loves writing their shared name; B-L-A-K-E; then O-C-T-A-V-I-A; the first time she reads an entire story herself- a short, simple telling of the myth of Cassandra- she smiles so big and wide at the end that you pick her up and spin her around and around, and you wish you could tell people about your brilliant little sister because you have never been so proud.

.

2\. Earring (Raven)

Finn was waiting outside your door that morning, a hand held behind his back and a giant grin on his face.

“Happy birthday Raven,” he bounced on his toes, smile only growing.

You laughed, the foul mood your mother, passed out on the couch and reeking of moonshine, had started your 14th birthday with vanishing. “How long have you been out here?”

Finn only shrugged, smile softening into the dopey look he got around you these days. “I got you something,” he said, whipping his hand from behind his back and uncurling his fingers from the fist they had been in. Sitting in the palm of his hand were two pieces of shiny metal. Looking closer, you realized they were earrings.

“They're beautiful,” gently picking them up, you looking closer. Jewellery was hard to get a hold of on the Ark, making it taking materials and skill that few people had the time or inclination to learn. “Where did you get these?” you asked in wonder.

He smirked. “Say thank you, Raven.”

You made a face at him. “Thank you, Raven,” you parroted back. 

Finn only laughed. “Don't worry about it, I didn't steal them or anything. Try them on!”

Carefully, you took the old earrings you had in out, trading them for the new ones. “How do I look?” you asked.

He kept smiling like a dope. “Beautiful.”

.

3\. Growth (Octavia)

Bellamy comes home late the night before you turn sixteen, after your mother has already gone to bed. He pulls you away from the beds, gestures to be quiet. He watches the clock with you, counting down the minutes, then seconds, until the next day. Until your birthday.

When midnight hits, he grins at you and you grin back, watching as he rummages through his bag, pulling out a bottle of something. 

“Happy birthday,” he tells you, handing the bottle over.

“What is it?” you open the top, sniff what's inside. “Holy-”

He laughs softly. “I know. Moonshine is basically rocket fuel. But I thought you should have some, to celebrate the big day.”

You take a sip cautiously, try not to spit it out. Force it down your throat.

Bellamy laughs, a bit. “I know. I know. It's best to just swallow right away.”

That one sip has made everything warm, you realize as Bellamy takes the bottle, swallowing his own swig and shaking his head after it's down. 

You do that for hours, probably, trading the bottle back and forth, the stuff tasting less nasty with every swallow. It's not a big bottle by any means, but by the end of it you're having trouble keeping your giggles quiet. They don't wake their mother, which is good, but the next morning they both have splitting headaches, and your mom takes one look and knows what's happened.

“Happy sixteenth,” Bellamy whispers to you while your mother gets you both water- thank god they aren't on drought protocols right now.

You never really thought you'd make it this long without being caught. It's possible your mom and brother feel the same, if their faces are anything to go by. This isn't so much a birthday as an anniversary.

You sigh, press your forehead against the cool metal. “Happy sixteen.”

.

4\. Grief (Bellamy)

It's at the end of the longest day of your life- when you've damned your sister to live her remaining years in the Sky-Box and watched your mother's body torn out of the airlock and, least of all, ruined any future you had on this godforsaken space station hell- when you get back to the place you've called home since birth, that you realize there isn't a single picture of Octavia.

Up in frames: pictures of you, differing ages. Some with your mother, some with a man you only sort of remember who shares your sister's eyes and your mouth; some with just him and your mother; one of your grandparents, dead before you were born. You mother had kept them up and showed them off, like _look how normal we are, no extra family members for the Blake's_. Everything your mother ever did was to protect Octavia, and _you_ -

You don't have a picture of her. Will you remember what she looks like? You're an accomplice to her existence, so no visiting hours for you. The next time you'll see your baby sister will be the last. On her 18th birthday, when two guards march her to the Chancellor and then to an airlock. The last time you'll see her will overlap with the last time you saw your mother, and you won't remember the details. In ten years, twenty years, will you remember how her hair fell against her cheeks? The way her smile would widen when you brought her even the tiniest gift from the world outside their quarters? How she frowned, so serious, when you tried to teach her things she should have been taught by teachers, in the classrooms?

 _Augustus had a sister_ , you told your mother the day she was born. But Augustus was a warrior, a leader, and Octavia didn't have him for a brother.

She only had you. And you weren't even close to good enough.

.

5\. Isolation (Clarke)

It takes three weeks of isolation before you crack.

You’re sort of proud of that, really, even though you know a lot of the reason is the numbness that spread through your body when your father was sucked out an airlock- you’ve watched people in medical quarantines breakdown after only a few days, even with the interactions with doctors and nurses. You don’t have that, here: only the guards who bring your meals, who won’t speak a single word.

(you try to tell them about the life support, at first. It doesn’t take long for you to realize the guards they let near you are ones who already know. The ones loyal to the Chancellor and his lies, his secrets. The ones your father would have hated.)

It takes you three weeks to crack, and when you finally do, you shatter.


	2. 6-10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the ground, kids

6\. Stumbling (Miller)

The ground under your feet is so still, it’s making you sick.

It’s ridiculous, really, because you know its not actually still- the earth turns on its axis, it circles through space. You have watched it move, on nights when you didn’t want to go home, you have sat and stared at the blue green turn, so slowly, until the continent you had greeted when you arrived was out of view, replaced by a different one entirely. The earth moves, is moving right now, while the Ark mostly stayed in one spot, hovering in space.

 _Mostly_. It was like living on a docked boat, and the ever humming engines had shaken the floors and walls ever so slightly. The vibration is gone, now, gone with the hum you’ve never not known. It leaves you shaky, off balance, and exhilarated.

You know others are feeling it too, stumbling around drunkenly, laughing loudly. It's disorienting- but then, everything is disorienting, the fresh air, the warmth of the sun, the cool, lazy gusts of wind, the vivid brightness of trees and leaves and sky. Bellamy Blake seems to be leading a revolt of some kind, recruiting the thugs of the Skybox.

By the time they're all chanting _whatever the hell we want_ , your wristband is off and you're trying not to think of your father. You're not stupid, and you know Bellamy isn't either- his strategy of letting a bunch of teenagers run wild isn't going to last long down here, not if they want to survive.

The ground is still, but its moving, and your balance wavers. You'll make the most of it until you find your sea-legs.

.

7\. Blood (Bellamy)

You've been on the ground for a handful of hours and you're helping some of the Hundred collect wood, because someone had said “lets build a fucking bonfire!” and it seemed like the thing to do- build a giant, reckless bonfire, convince people to remove the wristbands, win more of them over to you- when Mbege swears, drops the logs he had been dragging. When you look over in alarm, he's staring at the sky.

For one sick, terrifying moment, you think he's seeing another dropship, an exodus ship, Arkers coming down already to kill you like they killed your mother. But when you look up, follow Mbege's eyes, it's not a ship you see, no rockets or Arkers. The sky, which had been pale blue when you had landed, had changed.

It was red, it was pink, it was orange, it was purple- multiple colours, bright and bold, woven through the clouds, mixing with each other and making different shades, the sun a bright orange ball sinking into the tree tops, their branches black shadows against the light.

“Is the sky on fire?” asked a girl with blonde hair woven back into a braid, gaping at it.

Someone else called out, “holy shit, is that a _sunset_?”

It was, too. You had seen pictures in school, read myths with your mother about gods pulling the sun around the sky through the day. Seeing it first hand, you understand why ancient humans told stories about blood.

.

8\. Joy (Harper)

The rain was coming down so hard each fat drop felt like stones thrown on your skin, a shower of pebbles. It was freezing cold, too, and before long the mix of the temperature drop that had come with the sun going down and the cold water soaking them all, they were shivering despite the roaring fire, burning even with the rain.

Not that the cold stopped them. All the rain had done to their spontaneous bonfire was that they had to shout even louder, and occasionally they would tilt their heads back, open their mouths, and swallow the sweet, fresh rainwater. 

The Ark had been using and reusing the same water that had been brought into space all that time ago, sucking the humidity out of the air and purifying and filtering and making a cycle that kept the population hydrated enough to survive. Like everything else, it was strictly rationed and controlled, and being able to just swallow down gulp after gulp of the stuff is glorious.

People have set up anything that could work to collect the water for when it stops raining, makeshift basins scattered all around.

Your hair is clinging to your face, your clothes to your body, and you spread your arms wide and spin- partly with joy, partly to warm yourself up- and some of the others follow you, jumping and twirling and dancing with carefree abandon.

The rain stops, eventually, but most of them keep dancing while the others dry out by the fire. No one makes camp, not that night. Hardly anyone even sleeps, but those that do huddle together on the ground they never thought they’d see, and dream carefree for the first time in far too many days.

.

9\. Braid (Monroe)

“So every time you bring the section around, you grab a bit more hair from the side it's on,” you explain, showing the people watching you weave Roma's hair into a french-braid how you're doing it.

That morning, they had all woken up- well, those who slept- with hair twisted and snarled around sticks and leaves and grass. Anyone with hair past their shoulders had found out pretty quick how fast the wind ( _wind_ , there was _wind_ , the air _moved_ and not like a vent where its just one straight pressure, this changed how hard it blew and even stopped sometimes, like the world was _breathing_ ) whipped it into their faces. Some of them were cutting it- others, like Roma, had approached you and asked how you twisted your hair up into the tight braid on the back of your skull.

 _Thank you, Gramma_ , you think, as you finish the last twist of the other girl's hair. She turned and grinned, then shot a look to the blonde girl hovering nearby.  
“What do you think?” Roma asked.

The blonde girl smiled back, wide. “I like it. Let's go see if Bellamy does.”

.

10\. Sing (Finn)

For the first few days after they had dropped from the sky, landing hard and on fire, the forest is quiet. Like Clarke had said, no animals- no birds, no squirrels, nothing but them making noise.

But then, slowly, it picked back up.

The third morning on the ground, a high pitched, warbling whistle starts sounding from the trees, just one, lone tune. It makes you hold your breath, hold in the replying whistle you want to sound back, in case it scares them off again.

After a few more calls from the branches, another bird joins in- because this is birdsong, you've heard it in audio files your Earth Skills teacher had, practised your own whistle to sound like it for tricks- and before long, you can hear skittering in the underbrush, chattering from the tree trunks. It's like the entire world has been keeping silent, assessing whether the new addition to its world was a threat or not, and now they've decided it's safe to sing.

Clarke comes up behind you, hair halfheartedly pulled up and out of her face, eyes bruised with exhaustion and Jasper's blood staining a corner of her jaw. She looks beautiful.

“Are you hearing that, too, or am I starting to hallucinate from lack of sleep?” she asks, dry.

You have to smile. “Both, probably.”

Clarke only nods, looking out at the trees. “Guess they decided we're here to stay.”

It's a truth none of them have spoke aloud- that even if the Ark was to somehow fix its life support, somehow make it so it could go on housing its population, there was no way they'd be going back up there. The dropship is just that, a _drop_ ship, and none of them were rocket scientists; they couldn't build something to shoot them back up.  
_Raven could_ , a part of your mind says, and you stomp on it because the way things are going, you're never going to see her again. The Ark will fix itself, you think, and they'll keep being up there while you'll keep being down here.

Once upon a time, the only thing that separated you and Raven was the thin wall between your families' quarters. Now there's an entire sky.

Clarke is looking at you, tired and bloodstained and stronger than you've ever known how to be. “Well, if the birds have spoken,” you joke, and she smiles.

The forest sings.


	3. 11-15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel, at this point, I should probably mention that as this was written post-S2, and pre-S3, it more or less goes completely AU at the point everyone's back at Camp Jaha and Clarke goes off into the wilderness. I mean, I knew it was going to be AU, but seeing that trailer, I was struck with just how AU- the characters, in this, get to be _happy_ , sort of, for one.
> 
> So. Keep that in mind. And maybe enjoy the sort of happiness?
> 
> content warnings:
> 
> -death of teenagers (although you might be watching the wrong show if this bothers you?)  
> -brief mention of body mutilation  
> -talk of imprisonment

11\. Smoke (Bellamy)

They tell stories around the fire, at night.

There had always been scary stories about the far-off, near-mythical ground, on the Ark. About the shadows that lurked behind treelines, voices that came on the wind. Monsters in the dark.

They don't tell those stories, down here. When there are real, honest to god trees creaking in the night wind, their branches blocking the light from the moon for a moment before moving, casting shadows like long, inhuman fingers, it's not a thing they need.

Instead, you tell your new friends- followers? soldiers? subjects?- the stories your mother had loved, about gods long dead from empires long fallen. Shining beings who burned so bright humans would turn to ash to see them, frost giants and things with animal heads, petty gods who flooded the earth because they didn't like what they saw.

They find that if they put dried evergreen branches in the fire, it'll smoke and pop more than other woods, send tiny embers up into the sky that die out before they burn skin coming back down. The smoke burns their eyes, makes them cough and wave hands in front of their faces, but they keep doing it until their eyes water and they're gasping for breath.

All of it, every bit of it, is proof that they're really down here.

The smoke billows to the sky you won't go back to.

.

12\. Find (Miller)

You’re the one who finds the body.

Bellamy hasn’t asked you to do perimeter sweeps- he hasn’t asked anyone to do anything much, security-wise, although you know he must be aware of why he should be and how it would be done. His time in the Guard would have taught him that much, even if he never made it through training completely.

You know it because of your father, your father the Chief Guard, and you wonder if he’s worried about you, if they told him your vital signs went offline when you took that stupid thing off your wrist, if he’s in mourning right now, up above you in the sky. You're trying to decide if you hope he is or if you hope they never told him when you see it.

It, of course, meaning- Wells. Wells Jaha, who grew up in the same section of Alpha Station as you; two doors down, in fact, and Clarke across the hall. As kids, before you were old enough to wander around the rest of the Ark, go to school and meet other kids, the three of you were friends- by default, mostly. Until you got older and fell in with the ‘wrong crowd’ and stopped sleeping at home, most nights. But for a time, you were friends.

And now you’re looking down at his body, his throat gaping open and skin ashy from all the blood lost, from death. You can see blood stains on the ground, where the earth hasn’t sucked it in.

You’ve seen people die, before, seen them torn out of airlocks for petty crimes and you’ve seen the slower death of illness- the strain of the flu that was resistant to antibiotics and more deadly than ever that swept through the Ark when you were seven, killing Wells’ mother- and yours. You helped Wells carry the two that died in the dropship landing out to be buried, helped him strip their clothing because you’re the closest he has to a friend, down here. Or- you were.

Wells doesn’t have anything, now, no friends or future or blood.

Wells was murdered, you realize faintly, raising your hastily made weapon. It’s just scrap metal, but it’s sharp. A quick scan of the area reveals no threats. Whatever- whoever- had done this is gone, and probably has been for a while.

When you go to pick him up, you realize his fingers have been cut off, and you (quietly) throw up.

By the time you lug him back to the main camp, people are waking up. Bellamy is flirting with Roma and Bree, Fox is poking the fire while Harper carries over the wood Monroe is chopping up, and Clarke-

Clarke is staring at you in horror. Staring at the body in your arms in horror. “No,” she says, shaking her head and advancing on you. It attracts everyone’s attention, all their eyes on you as you place the body- Wells- on the ground.

“No,” Clarke says again, reaching out to cover his throat with her hand, as if to stop the bleeding. But there is no bleeding, and when she feels how cold he is, she jerks her hand away.

Bellamy’s striding towards you, face more serious than you’ve seen since you hit the ground. “What happened?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head. “No clue. I just found him. Right outside camp.”

Monroe looks up from the wood. “Is he dead?” she asks, loudly. That attracts the attention of Fox and Harper, and draws a few more people out of their tents, rubbing their eyes and staring at Wells, still on the ground.

“Grab something to cover him with,” Bellamy snaps over his shoulder, where one of the Johns is hovering. There's more than one, they all go by their last names, and they're all Bellamy's minions. Also, you can't keep their names straight in your head. You don't really try, to be fair, and right now you're distracted by the sight of Clarke dragging her hand down Wells' face, sliding his eyes shut, pulling the dead leaves out of his hair. You didn't expect her to breakdown- you've known her since you were toddlers, after all, and you know it takes a lot to break her. But you didn't expect her to be so... calm. Like maybe she saw this coming somehow.

Then Finn appears, cursing quietly under his breath as he drops to his knees next to her, and you realize Clarke wasn't calm at all- she was waiting. Waiting for comfort to let her tears fall.

John comes back with some of the cloth from one of the parachutes, handing it over to Bellamy, who pulls it over Wells.

He looks up at you, and you can see the fear that flashes in his eyes. “Grounders?” he asks.

You clench your jaw. “Look at his hand,” you tell him quietly, and when he does he curses.

A few others see it before he can put the cloth back over it, and a gasp runs through the rapidly growing crowd.

You crouch next to Bellamy. “I found him _right outside camp_.”

Bellamy nods sharply. “We need to finish the wall. And have look-outs, 24/7. And... we need to bury him.”

“I'll take care of Wells. You know more about security rotas than I do.”

He nods. “Do you need any help digging?”

Finn looks up from where he's hugging Clarke. “I'll help.”

You have seen dead people before. You have lost people; you have watched in silence as their bodies were jettisoned off into the cold and dark of space.

This is the first time you've buried a friend in the earth.

It won't be the last.

.

13\. Shopping cart (delinquents)

On day seven they found a metal cart- a 'shopping cart', according to Fox, who had apparently been a fan of Earth history before she'd been caught smuggling things from the redistribution centre.

“They used to have grocery stores, full of food, and you'd fill up your cart.” She had explained.

They had all taken a moment to imagine that- on the Ark, food had been carefully rationed out. They might actually be eating better down here. The image of this cart, big enough to fit a person, full to the brim with food was mind boggling.

The cart was rusted, and the wheels attached to the bottom made a horrific noise whenever they turned. It didn't take long for people to grow tired of it, throwing it over on its side to be pried apart and fashioned into weapons and tools, one less thing of the old earth, turned to survival.

.

14\. Muscle (Miller)

One of the things the Sky-Box was good for, you think wryly, was keeping you in shape.

There wasn't a whole lot to do, in those damn cells. Talk to your cellmates, wait for the meals to be brought, wait for visitation- if you were lucky enough to have someone who would visit- stare at the damn walls for hours on end, or work out. With that list, working out ended up being your favourite choice.

You can see it in other people's bodies, too- the way they drag stones and wood from the forest, building up the wall around camp, how they can walk for hours on rough terrain, how they lug scrap metal from the dropship around.

The irony isn't lost on any of them, you don't think. With every situp, every pullup, every jumping jack and squat, you thought _at least I'll be in shape when I die_.

It turns out, thought, that they got to use those muscles to _live_.

.

15\. Ruins (Finn)

Sometimes, when you're out exploring the wilderness around camp- far from camp, honestly probably too far- you come across things.

Things of metal, things of plastic, things of concrete or some kind of stone. You find signs too rusted to be legible, you find parts of buildings that no longer exist, you find children's toys, half-buried in the time since their owners left them there.

It never seems real- never even seemed real on the Ark, looking at the blue-green orb through space windows while a teacher talked about their ancestors, the grounders- that these were things that people used, made, had: not until one night you're sitting on half-crumbled stairs, long and wide, and you see a slab of something black on the ground nearby.

When you lift it out of the dirt and tangled underbrush and tilt it into the light of the moon, round and full and bright, you see a name and dates and a short epitaph, and realize you've stumbled into a graveyard.

There are bones under your feet; bones of people long dead- before the war, the final war, because the years carved into the headstones are too early by decades.

It's all you'll be, one day. One day soon. Another casualty of this- this _science experiment_ , because that's what dropping all of you down onto this planet really is, in it's most basic form; you are lab rats, expendable and sentenced to die, anyways. And one day, when you're all gone and the graveyard outside your camp has been forgotten, not even a tombstone to remain as testament, someone else will walk over your grave the same way you're walking over these graves, and they won't even know. No one will know.

You spend the night righting all the grave-markers you can find.


	4. 16-23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're caught up to the end of S1- I'm gonna miss this damn dropship. I wish it hadn't been burned all to hell so they could move back in.
> 
> content warnings:
> 
> -talk of fatal illness  
> -loss of loved ones  
> -talk of child death/suicide  
> -talk of the gory details of death  
> -sort of not really self harm  
> -talk of scars

16\. Loud (Bellamy)

The camp is so loud, all the time. Even in sleep, the noises of nearly 100 people (less, now, because even with Raven added to your group, your numbers keep dropping, people keep dying, and you can't stop it) echo through the forest, snores and groans and moans, and while it's not as loud as the ever present hum of machinery you had all known on the Ark, it's something.

Growing up, your mother had encouraged you to be as loud as you could, to draw people's eyes to you with confidence and a booming voice, to make noise that the people next door could hear through the walls. People knew you were loud, so if they heard the extra noise of your sister, they wouldn't question it.

The others, generally speaking, were raised to be quiet. It's hard living in such tight spaces with kids yelling and laughing loudly, and they seem to be taking the lack of adults and the wide open, never-ending room of the ground as an opportunity to let out what they've been holding in, yelling back and forth across camp; booming laughter that isn't carefree because not one of them is, but pretends to be; at night around bonfires that should probably be a bit smaller but one thing you're not lacking for is _wood_ , so what the hell ( _whatever the hell we want_ ), they sing and cheer and howl at the moon.

At the very least, it keeps the animals away.

.

17\. Shaking (Clarke)

One of the Hundred falls sick three days on the ground, his fever running too high while his body shivers with chills. You're busy with Jasper, and don't want to put them near each other- Jasper is susceptible to infection, and the last thing he needs on top of a gaping wound in his chest is the flu, so you're going back and forth, not touching the boy- Astra, his name is- telling others to make sure he's hydrated, to watch his fever and tell you if it gets worse.

You mix him a tea from the red seaweed you get for Jasper, and it seems to help- Astra doesn't become one of Bellamy's gunners, doesn't help build the wall around camp, doesn't do anything that involves too much activity, because his fever isn't gone completely and he still coughs- but he watches the fire, boils water. He seems to be getting better.

The morning of the fourteenth day on the ground, everyone gets up to find the fire is nearly out. Fox goes to check on Astra, and when you hear her short, sharp scream, you know. 

When it's his parent's turn to speak to him from the Ark, all they get is Miller.

.

18\. Empty (Bree)

Bellamy comes back from the search for Octavia with Finn in his arms, a grim expression on his face and a noticeably smaller group than he had set out with.

They're missing Mbege. They're missing Diggs. And they're missing Roma.

After leaving Finn with Clarke, Bellamy gets ready to set out again.

“Where are you going?” the wind is wiping faster and faster, and the rain is starting to fall. This isn't the time to be going out, it's the time to make like the rest of the Hundred, pulling their belongings together and huddling in the dropship. But if he's going out for Roma, to bring her back-

“The Grounder who stabbed Finn. We're going to get him.” Bellamy's not looking at you, staring resolutely at the ground, and your heart sinks. Your stomach sinks. Every organ in you sinks, drops out of you until you're hollow, because you know, you know, you know...

You have to ask. Have to hear it. “Roma?”

He clears his throat. “Dead. We lost her. The Grounders got her.” It seems like he's sprouting things on automatic, his voice as deep as ever. Last time you heard that voice, you had thought about how great it was, how the gravel of it shook through your chest.

It's not that, now. Now, it sounds like death itself.

“Why didn't you save her?” your voice is thick and sounds far away.

Bellamy doesn't even look at you. “I'll be back once we get the Grounder. You get inside. There's a storm coming.”

You ignore him. “Where's her body? Where is she, Bellamy?” You're getting loud, but no one is paying much attention. This is becoming common place, these days.

The girl that shared your cell with you and Roma in the Sky-Box, Allon, comes up to you, her face grim. 

“Hey, Bree, come on, we've got to get inside.” She says, grabbing hold of your shoulders and gently moving you towards the dropship.

Your eyes are still on Bellamy, who's moving away towards the gate. “Where is she?” you're yelling by now, but you're not bothering to fight Allon. Bellamy's still not looking at you.

“We'll talk when I get back,” is the last thing he says to you for a long time; they don't talk when he gets back, and not for a long time after that.

When they dig Roma's grave, there's nothing to put in it.

.

19\. Cold (Clarke)

The nights are starting to cross over from _cold_ to _fucking freezing_. Space hadn't been warm, and the Ark wasn't either, but it had never been cold enough for your breath to fog when you exhale, like there are clouds in your lungs, like smoke.

Every morning they break the ice on any standing water, and every night you huddle together in your tents, sharing body heat. Dax tries to light a fire in his tent and almost dies of smoke inhalation, Sterling manages to wake up with frostbite on three fingers, Hadya starts coughing like she's drowning. You'd wonder how the Grounders have survived down here for all these years, but you know the simple truth, the truth you all know; there is no choice.

You either survive, or you don't.

.

20\. Mourn (Miller)

You take the job of notifying the dead kids' parents, because Bellamy won't talk to the Ark and Clarke won't talk to her mom, and you're the one who can be stoic and sympathetic without being awkward or pitying. You're second in command, now that Murphy's been exiled, you're Bellamy's general, you're in charge of the burying of whatever bodies they manage to bring back to camp and the symbolic graves they dig if the body's too far into Grounder territory, like Roma and Diggs, or lost to the wilds like Trina and Pascal. It makes sense for you to talk to the parents.

Not everyone has parents, obviously- there's literally no one to tell about Murphy, and the only person to care about Charlotte is an elderly neighbour who used to watch her, before her parents were floated and she was arrested. The woman cries when you tell her Charlotte's dead, and she can tell you're not saying the whole story.

“How did she die?” the woman asks, her eyes sharp even though the low quality screen.

You hesitate for a moment. “She fell,” is what you go with. “Off a cliff. It was- high.”

That's one of the rules you've imposed on yourself, for this. You won't tell the parents and loved ones the details. Mbege's parent's will never know the sound his body made when he fell from the trees, and Roma's mother won't be told how she was impaled to a tree deep in enemy land, that her grave is empty and her remains are probably scattered by animals. Atom's family won't be told of the smell his skin gave off, the way the acid burns hadn't just been on the outside, how his throat and mouth were melted. 

“Was it quick?” Diggs' mother asks you, words blurred by tears and the static of the connection.

You think about impalement. How the spear pushes its way into your body, piercing skin and muscle and organs before you even realize it's happening. You think about Jasper's horrible screams, how it had been even worse when he stopped, the gurgle he had made when he didn't have enough energy left to scream. Diggs died quicker that that, for sure, but it still took agonizing minutes.

“Yeah,” you tell her. “It was quick.”

.

21\. Scar (Octavia)

You never really had scars, before the ground. Never really had the chance to get them, gather them on your skin like road maps of your life. Confined to one room, then a cell for all your life, with an overprotective brother and mother for a large part of it, made injuries- _bad_ injuries, broken skin deep enough to scar- a rare thing.

There are scars now, though, scabs that are on their way. On your knees and hands from falls, a patch of new skin on your leg from the river snake, various nicks from other little accidents and injuries of the ground.

You’re staring at your arm, right now. The smooth, clean cut down your forearm, made yourself with a poisoned blade. You had taken the antidote before it could affect you. The cut had barely had time to scab over, yet, but every time you look at it you remember the way the Grounder had jerked forward when you cut yourself, the fear in his eyes.

And it's- the knife you used to make the cut, to take the gamble that he would save you (again), it had been in Finn, stabbed deep and poisoned and meant to kill. The Grounder had meant to kill Finn, and you remember his easy smiles, his dislike of violence, and you think that if it had been anyone else who stuck the knife in him, you wouldn't feel like throwing up at the thought of them tied up and tortured. You think you'd be against it- you hope you would. You hope you'd tell your brother that he was wrong to do this, but the truth is, you don't know.

There are scars on your body, marking the story of your survival on your skin. Stories you hope you live to tell.

.

22\. Fear (Bellamy)

You are so afraid, all the time, and you can't show it.

Octavia looks at you, sometimes, even though she's angry, and you can't let her catch even a flicker of fear on your face. The others look to you, you and Clarke, and while you don't think you'll ever be as brave as her, as strong as her, you can't be weaker.

The Grounders are coming, and you're all probably going to die because your reinforcements crashed and the Ark has gone silent and _the Grounders are coming_ , but you'll all die a hell of a lot faster if your people lose hope.

You're afraid, but you have been afraid since the day your mother explained what would happen if anyone found out about your sister growing inside her. You don't let it show.

.

23\. Dirt (Bree)

The graveyard is the hardest to say goodbye to.

You should be helping everyone pack up. They're all in a hurry, missing half their things in all likelihood.

Bellamy had wanted to stay and fight the Grounders. Roma would have done the same, but Clarke had stood up and overruled him, so they were going. You wonder when Bellamy gave up control of their little camp. You haven't been paying the most attention, since Roma went off into the woods and never came back.

The graves are unmarked; Joule had been talking with Monty Green about maybe making some with names out of scrap metal or stone, but Monty went off into the woods and hasn't returned, either, and soon they're all to do the same. It's okay, though, because you know which one is Roma's, and she isn't here, either- they had dug maybe a foot into the ground in a grave shape and turned the dirt over to make it look real, but it wasn't. Roma was still somewhere in those woods.

You're not leaving her anymore than you're leaving Trina, who had grown up in the same corridor as you, or Charlotte, who'd been arrested the same week as you, or any of the countless fucking others whose bodies never made it back, who only got some overturned dirt for remembrance.

The graves are still the hardest to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16\. Please take the moment to imagine these dumb kids _literally howling_ at the moon and some actual wolves (probably mutated to be like six feet tall with extra teeth or something because this is their luck) howling back, and everyone just being _terrified_
> 
> 18\. Bree is that blonde girl Bellamy has the threesome with- it's my headcanon that her and Roma were girlfriends on the Ark. This headcanon is almost as dear to me as poly!Bellamy. In the process of writing these drabbles, I got ridiculously attached to Bree. Like, so attached that I probably would have named her if she didn't already have one (I say, as if I don't have an entire file on my computer dedicated to screenshots of the Hundred background characters, with names and life stories given to them.  
> Like honestly, if any wants I can give them an- occasionally blurry/pixelated- picture to go along with any of the Hundred OCs)  
> Allon, if anyone cares, is a transgirl


	5. 24-35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S2, in one chapter
> 
> content warnings:
> 
> -mentions of a massacre  
> -talk of dealing with disabilities  
> -mention of underage drinking  
> -talk of imprisonment/psychological abuse by guards  
> -aftermath of a bombing  
> -talk of war crimes/mass killings

24\. Exhausted (Bellamy)

“Clarke,” you warn her, “we've got parents here. Our people's parents. A couple of them, their kids died after the Ark went dark, but some- I didn't know if they died in the battle or not. They're going to want answers.”

Clarke looks at you for a long, tired moment. “48 of us made it into Mount Weather. I can- make a list. Of who made it.”

It's been a long, long day, and you can't imagine she wants to do anything other than sleep. You want the same.

Dr. Griffin says, “Maybe you kids could help me put together a list of who didn't make it to Mount Weather,” she sighs. “Everyone who we lost after we lost contact on Unity Day.”  
You think she means it to be a comfort, the way she says _we lost_ instead of _you lost_ , but somehow it just makes you want to point out that she wasn't anywhere near them, hadn't seen their blood or heard their screams, hadn't stripped the clothes off their bodies or dropped them in their graves.

So you go through the list of the surviving Hundred as of Unity Day, recounting their deaths; the biological attack from the Grounders, Murphy's revenge kills, the ones lost before the battle and the ones lost during- they're the hardest. You didn't see them all go down, couldn't have. You learn about more than one of your people's deaths when Dr. Griffin reads a name and you look to Clarke to find her shaking her head.

Before the battle, you had looked at Clarke and said _eighteen dead_ , and it had seemed like such a big number. It is a big number. But you've lost thirty more in the week since and suddenly you're crushed under that number. 

Dr. Griffin sighs again, running her finger down the list of dead. “Yeah, we have a few of these kids' parents here,” gesturing for a guard to come over- Miller's dad- she gets up. “We'll notify them. You guys get some sleep,”

You nod at Miller's father, who nods back. Clarke leans forward, letting her forehead rest on the table in front of her.

“Think there's a chance you'll be sleeping any time soon?” you ask.

She huffs a tired, humourless laugh. “Forty-eight dead, Bellamy,”

“Fifty-four alive. You, me, Octavia, Raven. Monroe. Finn.” She doesn't look up, but Finn's name makes her shoulders stiffen and you think she's probably remembering the Grounder bodies, Finn with the gun, the horror of realizing that he hadn't been defending himself, that the people he had killed weren't warriors and they weren't fighting, they were running, and Finn's eyes had been wide and empty.

She doesn't say any of that, though. “Everyone else stuck in Mount Weather, until they do who knows what with them.”

“We'll get them out. Hey,” you prompt, when Clarke still doesn't look up. You wait for her to lift her head, meet your eyes. “We will.”

“We should try to sleep,” Clarke says softly after a moment. She stands, rests her hand on your shoulder. “Thank you, Bellamy.”

You reach up, rest your hand over hers. “Anytime, Princess. Anytime.”

.

25\. Support (Raven)

You've been watching Lincoln with shifty eyes every time you pass him since Abby de-reaperfyed him, and you know it. Octavia's been giving you looks. It could be a 'your ex- and really, your best friend- sort of committed a massacre while seeming to have some kind of psychotic episode' look, or a 'hey, remember that time you tortured my boyfriend? I do' look. You're not sure how different those looks would be on her face.

Either way, you either need to stop or just get it over with before she tries out that machete on you. You can fight with fists or explosives, even guns, but swords are a little out of your range.

So you drag yourself into the room and force your body down into a chair by his bedside. He looks like crap, honestly, which makes sense. He eyes you warily, which... fair. The few interactions you've had with Lincoln involved forcible restraint and the blind rage of the boy who you've known practically your whole life nearly dying.

There is the part where that same boy shot up his village, but you aren't thinking about that.

“Hey,” you say. He nods slightly, his bloodshot eyes tracking you steadily. He doesn't say anything, so you continue. “Glad you're not dead.”

That makes the corner of his mouth twitch upwards in what you suspect is the closest thing to a smile he can pull off right now. “I'm glad to see you survived, as well.”

You're suddenly reminded one of the reasons you're still kicking, why you didn't bleed out on the cold metal floor of the dropship, was the medicine Lincoln sent with Finn. “Yeah. Thanks for the help on that, by the way.”

He watches you for a long time before moving his eyes to your brace. “It's a testament to Skaikru healing that the remaining damage from such an injury is so small,” he begins, and you can't hold in a small, derisive snort. He turns his eyes back to you, serious. “Even among my people an injury such as that wouldn't keep a person from use. Archers, weavers, healers- and we don't have braces such as yours.” He nods to himself. “You are still alive. You must work from there.”

You think he's probably not entirely talking to you, anymore, but he also seems to be falling asleep again. Octavia comes in, pretending like she hadn't been eavesdropping on that entire conversation, and you excuse yourself.

The moment you realized Abby hadn't been able to save both legs, you had decided you wouldn't feel sorry for yourself, wouldn't let it stop you from doing what you needed to. Since then, you've broken both promises to yourself. Some things, you've learned, you just can't do anymore.

But, as Lincoln has reminded you, there are still plenty of things you can; you still have one fully functioning leg, two good arms, a brilliant mind, and Wick's brace helps more than you'll ever admit to him. And that is plenty.

.

26\. Scream (Octavia)

When you hear Raven’s scream, you know it's over.

The agony and sadness and pain in it carries all through Camp Jaha, through the metal walls and echoing down corridors you never saw until they hit the ground and ending up in medical, where both you and Lincoln close your eyes until it’s over.

You bury your face in his chest, and his restrained arms twitch like he’s trying to hold you.

“He killed all those people,” you say against his shirt. “Why did he have to kill all those people?” You remember a boy with too-long hair and a purple flower, tucking it gently behind your ear. You remember a boy with a gun and an empty look in his eyes.

“The world makes monsters of us all, if we let it. Finn was…” Lincoln doesn’t finish. You can almost hear the conflict in him, his friendship with Finn against his love for his village. Finn who he stabbed, Finn who he saved, Finn who he ran through the dark woods with, leading an army of drug addicted cannibals as a distraction to save their people.

“I couldn’t watch it,” you admit quietly. “I couldn’t watch them torture him.”

“I don’t think they did,” he says after a moment. “That was- too quick.”

His chest muffles your sob, and his arms twitch again. “Please let me untie you,” you say, “I know you won’t do anything. I need you to hold me. Please.”

When he speaks, its quiet and soft. “Okay.”

You undo the restraints with shaking fingers, and first one arm, and then the other, move to circle around you, holding you close. You climb up onto the tiny bed with him, curling around the body you had thought you had lost too many times. He presses his lips into your hair.

“Sleep,” he tells you. “Sleep. And tomorrow, we’ll mourn.”

You sleep.

.

27\. Impartial (Bree)

You squint across the bunks, watching as Jasper approaches Monty and Miller, the Mountain girl Maya with him. As soon as he saw them, Miller turned up the radio, the four of them leaning in close to whisper amongst themselves in an incredibly suspicions manner.

“They're up to something.” Joule observes from the bunk above you, whispering next to your ear.

Snorting, you roll your eyes. “How can you tell?”

“Do you think it's about Harper?”

Harper had vanished as suddenly and completely as Clarke had, with the same half-assed excuses of her being in 'medical' if anyone asked. Miller's jaw was even more clenched than usual, Monty was a twitchy ball of anxiety, and Jasper kept disappearing with Maya- which, normally wouldn't be surprising, but he came back looking _less_ happy.

“I am staying out of this. At least until I can sit up without rebreaking my ribs, ow.” Joule adds. She hadn't been one of Bellamy's gunners, had, in fact, broken two ribs and bruised a bunch of others falling out of a tree while drunk on Unity Day and hadn't been able to pick up a gun, much less handle the recoil. You hadn't been a gunner either, mainly because Bellamy had still been refusing to look at you when the Grounders attacked, and the two of you had bonded over it. But it meant neither of you were very equipped to help with whatever the others were getting up to.

You think of Roma, then, how she had always been so fearless, so ready to run into a fight to protect people. You think of how she got herself killed doing just that.

“Yeah,” you say, “me neither.”

.

28\. Betray (Clarke)

That day’s training had been going well, until Lincoln showed up.

With the alliance to the Arkers, with Lexa's pardon, with his undeniable help and calm and the way he and Octavia looked at each other, some of his people had began to accept him again, if not forgive him. But the number that still spit insults to his face was higher, and the words _reaper_ and _traitor_ echoed after him wherever he went.

Today, they had had to call off the training because of it, and now Lincoln is sitting dejected, far away from everyone else. Of course, _dejected_ on Lincoln looked an awful lot like blank anger- it was good at keeping people away.

When you sit next to him, he barely acknowledges you, only a slight nod passed your way. You sit in silence for a moment before speaking.

“They called me traitor, on the Ark,” you begin, and he looks at you. “For trying to help my dad tell everyone the life support was going down. They killed my dad and they put me in a cell where the only person I ever saw was the one who brought my food, and they wouldn’t talk to me. Weren’t supposed to, anyways. Sometimes, they’d break to remind me I was a traitor. When I finally saw more people again, I found out that’s how I was known: the traitor in solitary.”

Lincoln is quiet for a while before speaking. “You aren’t a traitor, Clarke. Not to your people. Not to anyone.”

You make a noise of agreement. “I don’t think someone can be a traitor just for following their heart. Just for saving lives.” He doesn’t say anything to that, and you stand. “You need sides to be a traitor. The only other side is Mount Weather.”

Lincoln nods, calmly says, “And I was on that side.”

“ _No you weren’t_ ,” the angry insistence in your voice surprises the both of you, but you continue. “You didn’t choose them, Lincoln. You’re a good man.” He only looks at you, silent and unreadable. You nod to yourself. “You’re a good man. I’m glad to have you with us. And I’m glad to have you as a friend.”

He looks surprised for a moment, before smiling crookedly. “Well,” he says, his voice lighter than you’ve heard it in a while. “The traitors should stick together.” He walks away after exchanging one last smile, a laugh still on your lips.

.

29\. Blister (Raven)

It chafes.

There's a lot you could say about the brace on your leg; the way it clicks, sometimes, and startles you, or how it digs into your other leg sometimes when you walk, snagging at your pants and throwing off your stride even more than it already was. But what gets to you is the chafing.

You don't even _feel it_ , is the thing- where it grabs your leg and rubs until it's raw is all dead nerves, like you sat on it too long and it's gone to sleep, like it'll wake up any moment, but it never does- so you don't know how bad it is until you take the thing off, find a ring of blisters around your leg.

You've tried padding it, sanding it, adjusting it. It helps, some. But you figure what it really comes down to is building up thicker skin, there.

If you can do anything, it's that.

.

30\. Knitting (Clarke)

The Grounders wear clothing made before the war, a century old, just like anyone from the Ark; leather and kevlar and things they couldn’t recreate, had to scavenge from the dead and pass through the generations. Unlike the Arkers, though, they also make new clothing.

There are huts in TonDC with complicated looking looms strung with the threads people seem to always be making out of wool whenever their hands are free, people turning the resulting cloth into shirts and pants and undergarments. The sweaters, hats, socks, the warm things they need for the winter ahead are made with thicker stuff, spools of yarn twisted around two sticks and guided into patterns, clothing emerging from the quick motions of their hands.

You recognize it as knitting, something you’ve never seen anyone do outside of a TV screen- if there was yarn on any of the space stations when the bombs went off, it was used up quickly with nothing to make more out of.

Your people look at the Grounders and only see what they don’t have; running water and electricity, guns and mercy. They never see this, the things _you_ don’t have, they things that survived on the ground even when nothing should have.

You're all living on a world soaked in radiation, but the Grounders lived and survived here when the bombs had just gone off, when the water was polluted and the air was sometimes deadly, where no one should have survived- but they did. They survived without plumbing or power, with blades instead of bullets. With their looms and knitting and handmade clothing.

It's remarkable. It's just as amazing as people surviving in space for a century, or in a mountain. It's all amazing- in different ways, but still amazing.

If everyone could just acknowledge that, there would be a lot less bodies.

.

31\. Fire (Octavia)

You had missed the final, flaming act at the dropship battle, but you think it must have been like this; the crackle of fire burning up everything it touches, the overwhelming stink of burned flesh. 

This has got to be worse, though- a thousand times worse, because this hadn't been self-defence, not even for the Mountain Men, and these weren't just warriors, ready to die. It wasn't even just _people_ ; among the screams of survivors calling out for lost loved ones are the pained, terrified sounds of animals. Some are still burning.

People die in war, and there are always innocents caught in the crossfire. You know this, and you've only been in this world a few weeks. When the gods feud, people die.

But none of them are gods, not the Mountain Men, not Lexa, and not Clarke. They don't get to decide a village burns for their own benefit. They don't.

The fire burns anyways.

.

32\. Spiderweb (Clarke)

Literally _the_ most annoying thing about Lexa is her ability to walk through the woods without ever running into a spiderweb. She strides through the dense trees, every step sure and steady.

You've got the steady part down by now; you can walk without tripping over roots or stumbling at sudden dips in the ground. But it seems like every ten steps, you have sticky silk web caught on your face and have to fight not to shriek. Lexa- _and_ her guard- don’t try to hide their amusement as you sputter once again, hoping desperately the spider that web belonged to had moved on.

“How do you do it?” you ask her. Its a question you’ve asked several times; _how do you stand a broken heart? How do you run a sword through the man who stood by your side, protecting you? How do you stand aside and watch an entire village of your own people burn? How do you choose between what is right and what is needed?_ You've never needed an answer as much as now, though.

She turns to look at you, leaning against a tree and avoiding its branches easily. She looks wary and serious, aware of those past questions.

You sigh, wiping your face clean, and explain. “How do you walk through the trees without taking a dozen spiderwebs to the face?”

Her expression clears, and she steps towards you, her calloused fingers reaching for the webbing still caught in your hair, on your skin. “You will learn to do the same, Clarke. It takes practice.”

“It's not even fair, that of all the things to survive nukes, _spiders_ made it.” Something occurs to you, and you narrow your eyes. “Radioactive spiders. Remind me to _never_ mention that to Jasper or Monty, after we get them out.”

Lexa gives you a look, but doesn't ask. Which is probably for the best; Grounders already have a low opinion of the Arkers without you trying to explain comic books.

.

33\. Reunion (Miller)

They've barely left Mount Weather when Octavia freezes, her face going completely slack, and Monty walks into her back.

Everyone else freezes, too, when they see what she's looking at; a large, dark figure in Grounder clothing, coming towards them quick. They're just starting to raise their guns when Octavia breaks into a run forward and Bellamy and Clarke both shout for guns down.

“Lincoln!” Octavia yells, and the Grounder yells “Octavia!” and then they are hugging really very tightly, and the slow realization that this is _that_ Grounder, the one that's Octavia's boyfriend and also the one they had chained up and tortured, once, goes through the group.

And then they are kissing. Very passionately. You can hear Bellamy sigh in annoyance, or maybe embarrassment.

“What took you so long?” Raven shouts when they break apart. Kane has emerged to see what's stopped them, and he smiles.

“Good to see you, Lincoln.” Kane comments lightly.

Lincoln nods in his direction, but his eyes are still focused on Octavia when he asks, “Casualties?”

Octavia leans forward to rest her forehead against his, while Kane says, “Twelve of the Guard, after your people left. Two of the kids. And...” he trails off, looking towards Clarke and Bellamy.

“All the Mountain Men. Except the leader, Cage,” Bellamy says.

Lincoln nods. “I ran into Cage on my way here. He's dead as well.” Then, softer, he says, “I'm sorry, Octavia. I tried to stay. I tried.”

She shakes her head, grasps him tighter. “You came back. You're here now, that's all that I care about.”

You wonder, suddenly, if this is how these two are all the time. If it is, you kinda have to admit Bellamy probably didn't have a choice other than to accept the Grounder as- as _family_ , probably, because anyone who looks at Octavia like that would obviously do anything for her, and by extension, do anything for _them_. You feel kinda bad about the torturing and holding hostage, now.

They start walking again after that, Octavia and the Grounder holding hands. They also keep stopping to makeout.

After the fifth time, you sort of don't regret the hostage holding, so much.

.

34\. Walking (Miller)

You think, on any other day, in any other world where Jasper's eyes aren't glazed over in shock, exhaustion, and tears, it would be him who noticed, who asked. But Maya is dead and so are all those other people, the guilty and the innocent alike, so it's Monty who asks, an hour away from the mountain and still far too long from home.

“Hey, uh… where's Finn?”

Because Finn didn't like war, didn't like guns and shooting and fighting- you remember the first day down here, when he jumped between Wells and Murphy, stopped a fight between two people he didn't know from Adam simply _because_. But you also remember catching sight of him with a gun in his hands when the Grounders attacked, when he fought to defend Bellamy, Clarke, _his friends_. And maybe he stayed behind at camp, trusting that the Grounder army they had apparently set out with would protect the people he loved, but you can’t see it. If Finn was capable of going with them, he wouldn't have sat back while Raven and Clarke and everyone else went to fight.

Your suspicions are confirmed by Clarke, by Raven, by Bellamy and Monroe, when all at once they flinch and steel their jaws.

“Finn's dead,” Raven bites out. You look past her, to where Octavia is murmuring something to the Grounder- Lincoln, apparently- and moving towards the rest of you. The Grounder- Lincoln- doesn't look back at the rest of you, but his shoulders are tenser than they were when you had him tied up in a tin can during a hurricane, under the threat of torture.

There's a long moment of shocked silence after Raven speaks. It shouldn’t be shocking, really- there are a lot of people not here, today, that you trained and fought with at the battle, and even more that were on the dropship the day it touched down. You had all mourned for those who hadn't ended up in Mount Weather with you, had assumed they were dead, but then Bellamy had shown up and you had thought, maybe…

You didn't know Finn that well, and there are others who you miss more, but Bellamy is staring ahead, avoiding everyone's eyes, and Monty looks like he's been slapped. Several of them do, really.

“What happened?” Harper asks softly, after a moment of stunned silence. “the battle…?”

Bellamy, Clarke, Raven, and Octavia exchange looks before Clarke speaks. “No. He survived the battle. And then he killed eighteen civilians in cold blood. He gave himself up to the Grounders, so I killed him before they could torture him to death.”

And that… was probably the very last thing any of them were expecting to hear.

Monty's the first to speak, his voice soft and sad. “I'm so sorry.”

Jasper isn't speaking, hanging back at the edge of the clump of the former Hundred, looking like it's habit or dislike of the adults that makes him do it. You're looking back at him when his face twists, and you can see what he's going to say before he does.

“So you're an equal opportunity murderer, that's cool. Kill your enemies, kill the innocent, kill your own people.”

A shock goes through them at his words, some of their footsteps faltering, but Clarke doesn't even flinch.

Monty looks at his friend in a kind of muted horror. “Jasper, that's not-”

Jasper cuts him off before he can finish. “Shut up, Monty!” It's loud enough that the other Arkers take notice, peering at them curiously. Your father flicks his eyes to you, and you can read the question in them. When you shake your head, he nods, and stays back.

The fact that your father trusts you to not only tell if the situation needed the Guard, but to deal with it yourself makes you stand taller, moving over to Jasper.

“I don't think you're in your right head right now, Jordan,” you tell him quietly. A little louder, you add, “I don't think any of us are in our right heads. Not for this kind of conversation.”

You think for a second Jasper is going to try to take a swing at you, but he only deflates, rubbing his eyes. He looks up again, looking at Raven- not Clarke or Bellamy or Monty, you notice- and asks, “Finn's dead?”

Raven nods, and doesn't let the shine of tears in her eyes fall. “Yeah. He's dead.”

The silence after is- not really silence, because the rest of the Arkers are talking and there's the sound of the wind in the trees, small animals scurrying around, but in this cluster of teenagers who fell from the sky, not a noise is made.

After a long, long moment, you clear your throat. “May we meet again,” you say, and everyone echoes after you, the words a formality that's comforting in its familiarity.  
Forty-six other voices repeat after you, the words echoing in the trees.

_May we meet again._

.

35\. Free (Monty)

They don't go back to the dropship.

Obviously they don't- the entire area around it is littered with charred skeletons, the ground covered in soot, everything they worked to build burnt to nothing.

You knew they wouldn't be going back there, knew it wasn't where they were marching to after leaving Mount Weather. The Hundred, back when there were one hundred of you, barely fit in that camp. You don't know how many people are down here now, but it's fair to assume their new camp is bigger, by necessity.

That doesn't make it any less disconcerting to walk through the gates of Camp Jaha, watching as those who hadn't been trapped in Mount Weather all this time act like it's home. The Ark hadn't felt like a home to you for a long time, and just because it was now on the ground didn't make it any more so.

You can tell the others are thinking more or less the same thing, eyeing the sign and electric fence warily. The guard towers loom overhead, and you itch with the knowledge of how unlikely it is that one of them would be allowed on watch duty.

“Does anyone else feel like we just switched one cage for another?” Harper murmurs, still watching the fence. There's a general noise of agreement.

One of the girls, Liza, tilts her mouth questioningly. “It's there to keep things out, right? Not- in.” The skin under her left eye is split, scabbed over on the walk here. The skin around it is swelling, enough that she's talking out of one side of her mouth. You've always found optimism coming from someone in pain the most reassuring, somehow.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “It's- for protection. Scaly panthers and giant monkeys, those things.”

Deek gives you a look. “Because they've never locked us up before, right?”

It's a fair point, and they all glance at the fence again. Clarke has gone off into the forest, Raven has gone with Wick to either do something important or do each other, and Bellamy had slipped away after Clarke was gone.

Clarke's mom- the Chancellor, you correct yourself- is nearby, and so is Councillor Kane. You're surrounded by members of the Guard. You should feel protected, but all you feel is trapped. Again.

You look up, gaze at the blue and try not to remember thinking you were going to die deep underground, a ready made tomb, and you sign. “At least we can see the sky.”


	6. 36-44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the aftermath of the Mountain, what remains of the Hundred try to carve out their own space in the camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a depressing chapter- things get better for these poor fucking kids soon, I promise, but there's still healing to be done.

36\. Jagged (Clarke)

One of the literature series to have been lucky enough to be in space when the world ended was Harry Potter. You remember reading those books- or, the digital scans of the pages, because they only had one copy of any book and they were all falling to pieces at this point- and you remember thinking about Horcruxes, about how to tear off a piece of your soul you have to kill. That taking a life rips you apart.

You don't go back to Mount Weather when you leave Camp Jaha. You don't go back to the place that you turned to a tomb, and you don't count the bodies as you dig grave after grave.

You wish you could. You wish you could bring yourself to do so, to give the innocent, at least, if not the soldiers and doctors, a proper burial. But your soul feels jagged enough without knowing the number of times it's been torn.

.

37\. Cry (Monty)

Because you all have each other, are so attached to each other- those of you who fell to earth and bled and fought and were trapped and tortured and _lived_ , those of you whose motto was once _whatever the hell we want_ until you realized that what _you_ wanted was unimportant, those of you who look to Bellamy (or Clarke, sometimes, when you forget she isn't here right now- she's coming back, you have to believe that. She's coming back) long before you look to the Chancellor or the Councillors or even the Guard members- because you have that, people seem to forget that each one of you had lives before they were arrested. You all had lives, and friends, and people you cared about.

When the Ark came crashing down, some of those people burned up, some died in the crash, and some are still missing, entire stations they've yet to find.

So they're surprised when Miller steps forward, all of you standing behind him, and asks Kane for a list of the known dead- everyone from the Ark who had died since that day the Guard went cell to cell and put them in the dropship.

Kane, to his credit, is quick to get it to them, and it's noted how each of them died- the Culling, the bombing on Unity Day, those who were in the shuttle Mount Weather crashed, who died in the power and oxygen outage that followed, and the names of the people who were on the station that crashed.

Bellamy reads it out to all of you, pausing when one of them reacts to a name. He tries to keep strong himself, but after the first five names he recognized himself, and three pauses to comfort his people who had heard names they knew and loved, he lets the tears fall freely.

Halfway through, they're all crying, and Bellamy's voice is raw. Miller takes over, clearing his throat and wiping his face before continuing.

Sometimes, when a name is read, someone will call out something about them. Someone would say, _She was my neighbour, used to babysit me. She was sweet_ , or they would call out, _he was my math teacher, what an asshole! It sucks he's dead, though_. Or, in a small, soft voice, someone would tell them all,

_That was my mother._

.

28\. Light (Clarke)

You walk for a long time, only stopping for the occasional rest against a tree to eat or drink. You walk thought the daylight and then through the night, only guided by the light of the half-full moon, then through the daylight again. It's only when you're stumbling with exhaustion that you make camp and lie down to sleep.

The nightmares, blissfully, don't come until nearly dawn. But when they do, you wake up in a cold sweat, your hand clutched like it had been around the lever, ears ringing like the screams of innocents, of _children_ , being irradiated.

What little you had eaten before sleeping is vomited into a bush, and then you dry heave and cough for a while, shaking, shaking, tears on your face.

You watch the sun rise, that morning, then watch it as it moves across the sky. Your eyes water from the light, and you welcome the burn.

.

39\. Breathing (Bellamy)

You had first noticed it on the walk back from Mount Weather- not a one of your people looked the same as they had last you saw them, when you were rallying them for battle against the Grounders attacking the dropship. They had different clothes, different scars, held themselves differently. And their eyes were different, too. Some of them are worse than others; some more from the battle than the mountain, some the other way.

One of your people, McMurray- younger looking than he is, although that doesn't mean much, with the Hundred, with too much hair, blond and curled up around his head in a frizz that makes it hard to take him seriously- spent the whole walk back in silence, carrying his gun with limp arms, eyes forward but when you looked at them, you could tell he wasn't seeing in a way that reminded you too much of Finn, too much of the way he had looked at the girl on the cliff, at the Grounder with one eye after he had shot him, at every damn thing after they got back from TonDC, back from his massacre.

You had thought, maybe, that it'd level off when they got behind the fence, got to a place McMurray could call home and start setting their lives back up with tarps and tent pegs, but it doesn't. He sits though the reading of the dead, he sits while they set up their shelters- separate from the Ark- and the only time he ever seems to see anything is when someone brings him food or water and makes him eat or drink.

“He's been like this since we got to the Mountain,” Bree tells you. It's the first thing she's said to you directly since she screamed for Roma's body, and your heart jumps into your throat when you turn to look at her.

She's as beautiful as she ever was, although her eyes are different, too. Not the sleep hazy ones she had had when Roma kissed her goodbye before they left to find Octavia, and not the agonized, tear filled ones you wouldn't look at the day of the hurricane. They're older than the first, calmer than the second.

Bree continues, “He just- stares. Talks, sometimes, on good days. We were getting more and more of those until the Mountain Men locked us in. I haven't heard him talk since then.”

“Did the doctors in the Mountain say what was wrong?” You ask.

She shrugs. “That it was in his head. Nothing they could do.”

You scowl at that. “Yeah, well, excuse me if I don't take medical advice from those people.”

“It's _seisok_ ”, Lincoln announces from behind you. Bree jumps, turns, jumps again when she sees it's a Grounder, then relaxes slightly when she takes in the face. Slightly. “That's my people's word for it, anyways. I don't know yours, if you have one.”

“What is it?”

He looks at McMurray. “Sometimes, in battle or after, a person might- the things they see. The things they do. They're haunted. One of the ways they might deal with it is this,” he nods to the boy. “He's trapped in his own mind.”

“What do we do?” Bree asks quietly. Lincoln looks surprised to hear her address him- you don't imagine many of the others have.

“Make him eat, drink. Talk to him. Hope he talks back.” He shrugs. “This part is the easy part. This is the part, I suspect,” he continues, turning to you, “that we missed seeing Finn go through.”

That makes you snap your head up in alarm. “He's not gonna-”

“Unlikely,” Lincoln cuts you off. “Finn was scared and desperate and sure the innocent people of TonDC were the enemy when he was in _seisok_. This boy-”

“McMurray.”

“-McMurray, he'll more likely be... scared. Sad. Afraid. It's different with everyone.” He hesitates. “Sometimes, they're very sad. Always in pain. You have to watch them closely.”

“He's never tried to hurt anyone.” Bree says. “Not- like Finn.”

“It's not always other people they try to hurt.” When they look at him, Lincoln shrugs. “Warriors have scars. Sometimes those scars are from themselves- from their own blade. Sometimes, when a warrior dies, the only killer is themselves.” You blow out a strained breath between your teeth, exchanging a worried look with Bree. Lincoln looks between the both you you before telling you one more thing. “He can get better. Everyone can. They just need to keep breathing long enough.”

.

40\. Wound (Jasper)

It's three days after you get to Camp Jaha after Mount Weather by the time Dr. Griffin gets to you for your examination. You're in pretty good health compared to a lot of the others, but everyone's being checked over.

“Take off your shirt, please, Jasper?” Dr. Griffin asks, facing away from you while she washes her hands. You pull your shirt off just as Dr. Griffin turns, about to say something.  
Then her gaze catches on the large, puckered scar in the middle of your chest, and she freezes.

To her credit, she recovers quickly, a mask of professional neutrality sliding over the shock and horror, but you saw it anyways.

“You should see the other guy,” you quip with forced lightness. You're actually not sure who it was that had hit you with a spear and strung you up as live bait, if it was Grounders from Lincoln's village, outlaws kicked out of their clans, or a completely different group. Maybe you'll ask, someday.

Dr. Griffin hesitates, and you can see Clarke in her expression. You're still angry at Clarke, so, so angry and hurt and betrayed- but you owe her your life many times over and seeing her in the Chancellor, even for a moment, wins her over to you a little. “That happened...” she trails off.

“Uh, second day here? Clarke, Finn, Octavia, Monty and me went to get supplies from Mount Weather- this was back when we thought no one ever made it there, you know. We think we crossed some kind of Grounder territory line, 'cause next thing I know I've got a spear sticking out of my chest. Anyways, they strung me up to a tree as bait. So. Welcome to the ground.”

She looks appalled, turns away to grab some doctory things. “Damn Grounders,” she mutters under her breath, and you feel a bit bad. Grounders killed a lot of you, sure, but you killed your fair share of them, too. You were the one to flip the switch that burned 300 of them alive, after all, you were the one who triggered the bomb Raven made and planted on the bridge, and you were the gunner who starting shooting at the look-outs at the peace talk.

“Grounders weren't the only ones who hurt people,” you say softly. She looks at you questioningly, and you shrug. “Ever look at Lincoln's hands? The right one.”

Dr. Griffin hesitates. “He has a scar, looks like a stab wound through the hand.”

“Yeah. Well, we were the ones who gave him that. Remember when Finn got stabbed? Lincoln did the stabbing, the knife was poisoned, we needed the antidote. There was some torturing.” She looks horrified again, and she's not bothering to hide it. “I'm just saying, we actually killed more Grounders than there even were of us down here. Those flares we sent up to let you guys know we were alive? Apparently they burned down a village.” You shrug.

“I never asked Clarke about what happened down here, not really,” she admits. “I'm not sure I wanted to know after I saw your camp- all the bodies...”

You don't have it in you to defend Clarke, not when Maya's burned face is still behind your eyes. _None of us is innocent_ , she had said, and you know she had been talking about the Mountain Men, but it's true for all of you, too.

“Welcome to the ground,” you repeat instead.

.

41\. Familiarity (Bree)

“Where are you staying?” he asks you, and it's an adjustment having him looking at you again, his serious eyes looking at you like he cares.

Bellamy cares about every one of his people, though, in a way that's different than the Chancellor- Jaha, Kane, Dr. Griffin, any of them. Bellamy looks at each of his people like they're important, _them_ , not the grand scale or the big picture they make. Your Earth Skills teacher had a saying that you never understood until you hit the ground; _seeing the forest for the trees_ , and you think that's almost what Bellamy does- but he sees the whole forest, too. Just because he cares about every tree in that forest doesn't mean he's not aware it's a forest.

It's very late, and you're too tired for your metaphors to make much sense. “I'm in with Joule,” you tell him after a moment.

He frowns. “Isn't Joule bunking with Mike, Sitka, and Brenda? That's a full tent.”

“There's a reason I'm out here in the middle of the night instead of sleeping in my tent,” you sigh, shifting on the cold ground.

Bellamy slowly levers himself down next to you. “There are other tents. Tents with only three people. You could bunk in one of those. We could get your stuff right now.”

Bending your legs and pulling them against you, you lean forward to rest your forehead against your knees. “I wouldn't ever sleep if I did that,” you tell him. You can almost _hear_ his frown when he makes a noise, confused and prompting. “I don't have a lot of friends. I mean, I get along with most of them, but I'm not... close to them. Roma was always the one who made friends.” Bellamy flinches a little at her name, but you continue. “Joule was Roma's friend, so she was mine, too. I guess you know as well as anyone that me and Roma were a package deal.”

You turn your head to look at him when you hear a huff of laughter. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess I do.”

He's thinking of the same thing you are- the night Roma had kissed him, holding your hand. He had looked between the two of you, confused; looked at your linked hands. You had kissed him then, with Roma still pressed again Bellamy's chest. When you had kissed her next, he seemed to get it.

That was a good night.

“So Joule's really the only person who I... trust, I guess. And I can't- I can't sleep without someone I trust there. No matter how tired I get. Not since the mountain. Maybe even before, I don't know.”

Bellamy looks thoughtful. “And Joule's the only one you trust? Out of all of us?”

The sleep deprivation makes you more honest than you'd be otherwise, and you blame it for what you say next. “Well, except for you.”

“Me?” He looks like he just got hit in the face with a tree branch. Or possibly an entire tree. “You trust me?”

The genuine shock in his voice makes you pause, gentles your own voice. “Of course I do.” He looks even more shocked, if possible, to hear the confirmation.

“Roma...” he hesitates, and you jump in.

“Roma made her own choices. She knew the risks of going out there; she didn't take them to impress you. She did it because she wanted to help, and I'm proud of her.” You think you might be crying, and Bellamy's eyes look suspiciously bright. “So, yeah, I trust you.”

He hesitates for a moment before telling you, “So come sleep with me. In my tent, I mean. I'm with Miller and Monty- we'd have to share a bedroll, but I'm not asking for- just sleep. You need some sleep.”

It's a bad idea, and you both know it. Literal sleeping together will turn figurative pretty fast; you've missed the feeling of another person's hands on you, missed Bellamy's hands almost as much as you missed Roma's. But you're tired, and it's cold, and the idea of falling asleep in a bedroll with the warmth of another person's body- the body of someone you trust- is too tempting. You find yourself nodding before you've really thought it through.

“Yeah,” you tell him, “okay.”

You sleep solidly that night, and wake up later than you probably should have to find Bellamy still next to you, talking shop in hushed tones with Raven. You move your few belongings out of Joule's crowded tent that afternoon, and you think maybe you have a place, now, that you can call home.

.

42\. Separating (Bellamy)

Clarke has been gone a week when Abby approaches you. It's been a week of your people setting up camp as near to the perimeter fence as they could get without electrocuting themselves, a week of treks back to the dropship to see what survived the fire, safe inside, and what weapons weren't burned too badly- which birthed the game of seeing who could smuggle the most weapons past the Guard and into camp. (Surprisingly, it was Mel, the girl you'd carried off that cliff side after the crash.

“Don't give me that look,” she tells you all, grinning, as she pulls yet another knife out. “I'm the only one of you delinquents who never got caught,”)

Technically, none of them were supposed to have weapons. But, realistically, none of them would be walking around without them.

It might be that casual disregard for the rules that brings the Chancellor to speak to you- among other things salvaged from their former camp is Monty's still, which had been placed safely inside the dropship, and it's starting to get noticed- or it might be that your people treat her with a bit more deference than they might treat the Commander- a leader, definitely, but not theirs.

“Chancellor,” you greet her as she approaches your camp. “What can I help you with?”

She looks around suspiciously, and you're reminded that of all the things she is- a leader, a doctor, even a rebel, on occasion- she is also a mother. That's the exact same look your mother would have when she suspected you and Octavia were breaking rules, but didn't know which ones, yet.

“Bellamy,” she greets you. The others are pausing in whatever they're doing to watch the both of you, sticking their heads out of tents as the word of the Chancellor's arrival spreads through camp like the ripples from a pebble in still water. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

You think about pointing out that you've got fifty teenagers living in tents in a relatively small area, that _nothing_ is all that private here, but instead you nod, say, “my tent should be empty.”

You walk there in silence, and thankfully it's a short walk. You pull aside the tent flap to let her in first, then pull out a chair- an upside down crate- for her to sit on.

“Miller and Monty are with his dad, Bree's out with a group beyond the fence.”

Abby looks curious. “Four of you live here?” She asks. “There are only two beds.” You raise an eyebrow meaningfully. She shakes her head.

“We've got three or four people in most tents,” you explain after a moment, “are our living arraignments what you wanted to talk to me about?”

She sighs. “No. I wanted to talk to you about how the Hundred still treat you like their leader.”

That's the first time you've heard anyone call your people 'the Hundred' in a while, at least aloud. It's not accurate, not now that you're less than half that, but you have to admit it's got a ring to it. “I'm just taking care of things until Clarke gets back. She's their real leader.”

Abby's lips are pressed together in a thin line. “That might have been true when you kids were all alone down here. It might have even been true when we were at war. But _I'm_ the leader, Bellamy, at the very least until we've found the other Ark stations and can have an election. You're not Grounders, you're from the Ark- and I'm Chancellor of the Ark.”

“All due respect, _Chancellor_ , but the last time my people were on the Ark- before they were loaded onto a dropship and sent down to a planet you were pretty sure would kill us- they were in cells. You're Chancellor of the Ark, yeah, and you're leader of it's people, but you're not ours.”

“That's not true, Bellamy. No matter what part of the Ark you kids were from, or in, you're still _from the Ark_. You're all Arkers. What was it the Grounders call us? Sky Crew? You're all from the- sky.”

You know for a fact there are people listening in on this conversation right now, standing just outside the thin tent walls and passing along what they're hearing to the others, because your people are nosey and you couldn't stop them if you tried. They've always been the ones who went unnoticed, climbing and crawling through ducts and air vents, smuggling and stealing and being overlooked even when starving or beaten. Those skills are how they survived long enough to get caught, long enough to be sent down here.

In this world of savage brutality, you're not going to discourage anything that keeps them alive.

Finally, you tell the Chancellor, “We may have been born in the sky, and we may of grown up in that Ark. But _you_ sent us down here, and we made the ground our home. We're still _Skaikru_ ,” you're sure your pronunciation is still off, but it's better than Abby's, “but we're not in the sky any more.” You sit back, watching as her lips push together into a frustrated line. “Like I said, Clarke's our real leader. If you still want to fight about who's on top, you'll want to talk to her when she gets back.”

Abby doesn't say a thing as she stands and leaves, and you pretend you don't see everyone skittering back to what they were doing before she showed up, like they were there the whole time.

.

43\. Dreaming (Bellamy)

Of the fifty-odd of your people that remain, nearly all of you have nightmares. You can see them in the bloodshot eyes and the dark shadows under them, find them by leaving your tent at night to see who’s sitting by the fire in silence, staring at the banked embers, or, if there’s enough of them awake, the flames, like they’re hoping to burn out whatever it is behind their eyes.

There’s at least two awake all through the night- the first because it was decided without conversation to keep their own watch, never mind the Guard, the second because you don’t allow anyone up because of a nightmare or fear of nightmares to relieve someone of their shift. Considering the things your people have nightmares about, they couldn’t be expected to keep a calm head about noises in the dark.

And that’s mostly all it is- bad sleeps and jumpiness until the sun came up again and dreams were just dreams, memories just memories. For most of them, that’s all it was.

For a few, though, it's worse.

Most often, it’s Jasper who’s screaming in his sleep, calling out for a girl you helped kill, for parents who didn’t make it down, for dead friends and, somehow worst of all, Monty. The first few times it had happened, Monty had come running, shaking his best friend awake and out of whatever horrors he was trapped in. The moment Jasper had been awake enough to tell who it was, he had flinched away, telling him to _get out_. Monty had went, and after it had become apparent he wasn’t going to have a different reaction, he had stopped running to wake him. Now, it’s usually his tent-mates who cut off the screams.

Jasper’s not the only one who has nightmares that bad or loud; there are four or five. Tonight, it’s Harper.

There are no words in her screaming; it’s just one, drawn out noise of pain and fear. She’s dreaming of the drills again.

When you shake her awake, she flinches more than startles. The drill points have healed, by now, but they’re still hurting her. Dr. Griffin thinks the physical pain will take a long time to fade for good. Harper will always be able to feel changes in the weather, will ache with the changes of air pressure and humidity. They weren’t operating on her with recovery in mind, after all.

At this moment, though, it isn’t the physical pain that’s bothering Harper.

“Bellamy?” She asks, sleepily, sitting up in bed and rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah, its me. You were having a nightmare.”

She exhales. “I remember. I was back in Mount Weather. With Dr. Tsing…”

You shake you head. “Don’t call her a doctor. That woman lost the right to that title when she started torturing and murdering people.” Harper nods, but doesn’t look reassured. “And she’s dead, right?”

“Saw it with my own eyes,” and she doesn’t look upset about that, like watching a person die of radiation burns was nothing. You know she feels different about the innocents of Mount Weather who went the same way, though, so you can only feel glad she doesn’t carry even more pain from Tsing.

“She can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Except in dreams,” Harper points out.

You frown. “Except in dreams.”

Once, you would have shared the advice your mother was so fond of: slay your demons. After Charlotte, though, you don’t think you’ll ever say those words again. So instead, you offer, “do you want me to stay here tonight?”

She hesitates for a moment, then begins, “Bree…?”

You smile. “Bree’ll sleep fine. Monty and Miller are in the tent with her. And she gets that sometimes, people need someone to keep the nightmares away. You go back to sleep, and I’ll be right here. Okay?”

She nods, grateful and shy. “Thank you,”

“Next time, you can keep my nightmares away. Deal?”

“Deal.” Harper’s eyes will still be deeply bruised, come morning, and she’ll be in pain from an approaching storm, but her eyes won’t be as red as normal, and she’ll smile at you gratefully.

More nightmares will come, for all of them, but as the sun rises and your people begin to shuffle out of their tents, wrapped in blankets against the chill of morning, you’ll know it’s another new day. Another opportunity to make some good memories to cover up the bad. Make some dreams, instead of nightmares.

.

44\. Abandoned (Monroe)

You shouldn't have snuck away, you know you shouldn't have, but the Arker you'd been paired up with on hunting duty had been boring, condescending, thought he knew more than you because he had studied the ground. It made you miss Sterling like you hadn't let yourself in a while, the way the both of you felt about the ground, how you had both been shit-scared at the same time you felt at home for the first time in- ever, probably. The both of you had run from Grounders and battle but he still went down a cliff-side for Mel without a second thought, and when the Arker you were hunting with tripped over a root and fell on his face, you turned the other way and went home.

The dropship was empty, emptier than it even had been after the battle- the Hundred had been back numerous times, picking the area clean of anything useful, and the charred skeletons had been cleared away, the charcoaled, charred remains of the surrounding area washed cleaner with every rain. But it was still too burned and barren for new life to spread in, leaving a blackened clearing of death in an eerily perfect circle around a metal tower.

The door was open, but you hesitated to go inside. That, too, had been stripped clean, more thoroughly than they had the first time they sent up camp- it had been right there, after all, only a few yards if you needed something from inside. Camp Jaha, and the Hundred's own, smaller camp within it's fences, was too far for casual treks back and forth to grab loose ends. You didn't know if you wanted to see the dropship all emptied out and sad like the outside, but you remembered the words you had said- _we are warriors_ \- and made your way up the ramp, then up the ladders until you were in the very top, where it was warmest.

At the beginning, when you all first crashed down onto this planet, you used to come up here at night. You were never alone in that; it was a popular place, whether for the warmth or the false security the tight space gave the impression of. There used to be a blanket, a tarp, a few loose items of clothing abandoned, scattered on the floor. Now it's empty, only a layer of grime and a loose leaf left. Fox would have said something about how that leaf was like them, had grown in the air like them, suspended on a branch, until a gust of wind or gravity had pushed it off, out, how it fell and fell until its entire world was different, until it was on the ground to be trampled. Fox would say something about how that leaf hadn't asked for that, but it had clung to someone's shoe or clothes until it got carried all the way up here, where it wouldn't be trampled again.

Fox liked those kinds of things, poetry and metaphor. But she's dead now anyways, strapped down and mined for marrow until she was empty. She can't explain her poetry to you, so it's just a crumpled up, stepped on, dead leaf.

A few days after landing, you'd been woken up by a little girl's screaming. It had been Charlotte, and you'd brought her up here, sat in silence, brushed out and braided her hair in the french braids your grandmother had taught you before she died and left you alone. Not long after that, Charlotte had killed Wells Jaha, went on the run, and threw herself off a cliff. You wonder if maybe you should have said something, that night, instead of just braiding her hair. You wonder if she looked like that damn leaf after she jumped, all crumpled and dead.

You don't know how long you're up there, thinking about Sterling, about Fox, about Charlotte and all the other dead kids who once sat in this dropship and felt their stomachs drop in the too-long free fall, but you know it's too long. Long enough that the Arkers have got to have been notified about your taking off, that someone's looking for you- if not the grownups, then the Hundred. You're aware you're acting like a child, like the ten year old you were when you were arrested for breaking and entering into restricted areas. You had been hiding in the vents and maintenance shafts for a month before you found yourself in the ceiling above somewhere you shouldn't of been. It was just your luck that after a month of stealing food and water and crawling around dusty metal floors, that was when they caught you.

You shouldn't have taken off, no matter how annoying the guy you were partnered up with was, and you shouldn't still be hiding. It's dangerous, and irresponsible, and your people will waste time and resources looking for you.

You'll go back, soon. It had still been an hour or so to noon when you had left the guy- it can't even be dinnertime, yet. Plenty of daylight to get back to camp. You knew the way, you had your gun, your knives. You'll go back soon.

You'll go back soon, but not just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 36\. One of my favourite things about writing these drabbles is trying to decide what pop culture would have survived the apocalypse. Harry Potter was a no-brainer.
> 
> 39\. Seisok: Grounder word for PTSD, from the old term 'shellshock'
> 
> 42\. the Hundred are huge gossips and their whole camp is basically a never ending game of telephone


	7. 45-50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adjusting to life in Camp Jaha and preparing for winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and cue the canon divergence- we're completely off script with S3, now

45\. Wander (Bellamy)

You're not sure how Murphy came up in that night's conversation, a bunch of them huddling around the fire in their camp after dinner, trying to chase away the chill that just got worse the lower the sun got in the sky.

They were talking about what happened, after the battle at the dropship, to those the Mountain Men didn't take- about finding each other, finding Clarke's mom and Kane and the other Arkers, about seeing Camp Jaha for the first time, their breakout to look for everyone taken by the Mountain- although, at the time, they thought it had to be Grounders. 

(looking back, now, knowing what you do, the thought of Grounders kidnapping your people doesn't make sense; who would it have been? The army that had just been sent to kill them was dead, and the only survivor, the one who captured Finn, had been going to report to the Commander, and he died before he made it there. There's no way Lexa would have known yet that her first attack had failed, and even if she did, the next army still couldn't have gotten there, grabbed them, and got out that fast.

and that's another thing- why would they have _kidnapped_ them? Maybe for information about the pieces of the Ark that dropped from the sky, but they wouldn't have needed all of them- they most likely would have taken a few and killed the rest. Looking back, it makes no sense to think the Grounders took several dozen hostages. But at the time, with all they hadn't known, yet, it had seemed the only explanation)

One of them must have mentioned Murphy was there in all this, because someone asks, “wait, Murphy's alive?”

Monroe and Octavia had been doing most of the speaking, so far, but at this they both turn to you. “He was,” you shrug. “Don't know about now.” At the questioning looks you get, you explain, “One day, Jaha and a couple other Arkers left. Rumour was, when Jaha shot himself down from the Ark he landed in a desert.”

“Most of it's uninhabitable. Even the Sankru don't go that far in- they mostly stick close to oasis's, on the border,” Octavia explained. “It's called the Dead Zone.”

Miller huffed a laugh under his breath. “Cheery,”

You chuckle in agreement before continuing, “Jaha met some Grounders while he was there and they told him this story about the city of light. Started spreading it around here when he got back and things were rough. Eventually, he left with some others to go find it, and Murphy went, too.”

Jones gives you a disbelieving look. “Murphy went with Jaha. Into a desert, looking for a probably mythical city? Are you sure we're talking about the same Murphy?”

There's scattered laughter as you confirm, “Same Murphy.”

“He hated Jaha, though. Like, more than most of us do. Which is saying something.”

“He didn't like Grounders a whole lot either, though.” Raven points out.

That makes them wince. They'd all seen what the Grounders had done to him, before they sent him back to give them that illness.

“Yeah, well. He didn't give anyone a list of reasons why he took off. Just did.”

Miller frowns. “Into a place called the Dead Zone. I know he was a murderer and a dick-”

“He made up for some of that,” you interrupt. “Not all of it, but...”

Raven shrugs. “He stayed with me when I was dying. Took care of me when there wasn't anyone else around. I kinda hope he didn't die in some stupid desert.”

“We'll probably never know, one way or another what happened to him. Not unless he comes wandering back through those gates.”

“I also kinda hope that doesn't happen either. He was a murderer. And a dick.” Raven smirks a bit.

Monty raises his glass in a toast. “May we not meet him again.”

.

46\. Sheep (Octavia)

Five Grounders show up outside the front gates one day not long after the the first time you wake up to find snow on the ground.

The camp is on high alert as soon as they get past the tree line, and humming with nervous fear by the time they are outside the fence. This is despite the fact that there are only five of them, their faces are unpainted, they have a cart, and there is a sheep.

An actual sheep. A fuzzy, living, real life _sheep_. You can't believe it.

No one really knows what to do, shifting nervously as they wait for Dr. Griffin to arrive. You, personally, are waiting for Lincoln and your brother. You don't recognize any of these Grounders, but Lincoln might, and in your opinion your brother has more authority than the _Chancellor_.

They get there before Dr. Griffin, too, and you're looking over to Lincoln when Bellamy asks in disbelief, “Echo?”

One of the women outside smiles, nods to him. “Bellamy. These are Luther, Krey, Enzo, and Ivyce. I do not believe you met them when you freed them from their cages.”

Bellamy's eyes widen with yours as you realize what she's talking about. And damn it, you wish some of those Mountain Men were still alive so you could kill them, because Ivyce is young, younger than you. How much blood could they have even gotten from her?

“Let them the hell in, already,” you say, loudly. The guards glance at each other, but Dr. Griffin has arrived.

“You can let them in, it's fine.” She confirms, and with that, the gates are opened, allowing the five people and their cart (and their _sheep_ ) through.

“We were glad to hear of your survival, Bellamy Blake, and your people's survival,” Luther says when they're in, “We regret that we were not able to stay and help you. We hope you would understand why we did not stay in that mountain any longer than we had to.”

Krey nods. “We bring this gift on behalf of all you and your people freed that day. It is not much- none of us have much to give- but we hope it may help your people through the winter.”

Enzo picks up the sheep to set him down on the ground, then removes the cover from the cart. Under it is a pile of furs, some blankets, dried fruits and berries, nuts, salted meat. Things that, if they had landed sooner, they would have spent the time before winter preparing. It's not much, like they said, but it's enough that you can hear audible relief go through the crowd of onlookers.

“And the Commander will be alright with this?” Chancellor Griffin asks, her voice bitter, and you want to kick her a little bit.

Echo smirks. “The Commander has it in her best interests to see the continued health of the Sky People.”

Krey shoots the other woman a look, then confirms, “Heda has expressed approval of this plan.”

“Well then,” Kane says, smiling. “Thank you, very much. And please pass along our thanks to the rest of your people.”

Skaikru begin moving forward to empty the cart, chatting excitedly as they look closer at the gifts. The sheep makes a noise, a sort of _baaah_ , and walks forwards until he's in front of you.

Echo moves towards you as well. “He likes you,” she comments.

You glance towards Bellamy, who is distracted by the unloading of the cart but still shooting glances towards Echo. “And my brother likes you,” you tell her.

Echo smirks. “He should. I saved his life. After he saved mine, I suppose, but fair is fair.” She looks at you. “You are Octavia?” You nod. “Indra sends her best. To Lincoln as well. Actually, what she said was _tell those soft fools not to die stupidly_ , but that is her way of saying it, I believe.”

You laugh, and wave Lincoln over from where he is speaking in rapid Trigedasleng to Ivyce and Enzo to share the message. He smiles as well.

“Will you and the others be staying the night?” Lincoln asks.

“We would be glad of it, if possible. We would leave at dawn- we are expected in TonDC- but it would be good to have a strong perimeter to sleep within.”

“If the Arkers aren't willing to host you guys, you're welcome to stay in our section of camp,” you offer.

Lincoln nods, then asks, “You're going to TonDC?”

“Everyone who is able is encouraged to help the rebuild- even those of us from other clans. They are trying to have as much done as possible before the snows truly begin.” Lincoln looks torn, which makes sense- TonDC was his home, where he grew up. Echo notices. “From what I hear, you are not welcome there, at the moment. Besides which, I believe you are more needed here. Someone needs to teach these Sky People how not to loose their fingers to frostbite.”

The sheep seems to agree; or at the very least, he makes a pleased-sounding _baaaah_.

.

47\. Spark (Bellamy)

You have a bonfire that night, in honour of your new Grounder friends. Most of your people still aren't really comfortable with Grounders, but they seem to have realized they aren't a threat anymore. And when there's a twelve year old girl trying to teach you steps to one of her people's dances, a middle-aged man encouraging people to drink the occasional gulp of water in between cups of Monty's moonshine, a teenager teaching you Grounder drinking games, an older woman telling funny stories, and, well, _Echo_ , being impressive and beautiful and funny, it's hard for them to remember why they're uncomfortable with Grounders. For tonight, at least, you're all getting along.

Echo and you are sitting beside each other near the fire, nursing drinks and talking. Bree wanders by and steals your cup, blowing you a kiss and swinging her hips the way she's prone to doing when she's in a teasing mood. You roll your eyes, but watch her walk away all the same.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Echo asks, watching her leave as well, her gaze curious as it turns to you.

You sigh. “Kind of. It's a long story.” She keeps watching you, her gaze unwavering. You huff a quiet laugh before explaining. “Bree and her girlfriend, Roma- they were together back up on the Ark. They were best friends. When we came down here, I joined the relationship. I think I took it less seriously than they did. No- I know I did. I didn't take much seriously, back then. We hadn't even been down here two weeks when Roma died. After that, Bree and I just... fell apart. But after the battle, and Mount Weather, we sort of got back together. Not really, but... sort of.”

Echo considers your words, taking another sip of moonshine. It's damn impressive how she can drink it without even a grimace. “She has lonely eyes,” she says after a moment. “You should ask her to sit with us.”

So you do. Bree gives you a questioning look, but comes to sit anyways, and it's not long before she's laughing with Echo and they're handing you their empty cups.

You stand to refill them, and find Miller with Monty by the still.

“Monty and me are staying with my dad tonight, by the way, so you three have got the tent to yourselves.” Miller greets you.

Monty snickers, grabbing the cups out of your hands and filling them up.

You think about protesting, even open your mouth to say something, but you look back to where Echo and Bree are sitting so close they're nearly intertwined, and what comes out of your mouth is a quick, “Thanks,” before grabbing the now-full cups and moving back to your place by the fire.

When you sit back down, Echo takes her drink and smirks when Bree thanks you for hers with a kiss. Bree smiles at you both, and the heat from the fire matches the pleasant burn of moonshine down your throat, and the warmth of happiness in your chest.

.

48\. Grey (Harper)

It's a miserable day, the sky overcast with dark clouds, blocking out the sun and keeping the temperature from rising much past the nighttime chill. The air is damp enough that you think it'd be foggy out, except for the occasional gusts of sharp, cold wind. It's enough to chase their moods, which had been improving the longer they were out of the mountain, back to the distant, grumpy depression.

The weather kept them near the fire, at least, so no one was going off to sulk alone. You think that's probably the last thing they need, any of them; time alone to think about the sound of drills, the smell of radiation burns.

Everything hurts, today. Your bones _ache_ , the places where they drilled through your skin and into your marrow the worst. You know others are feeling it, too, anyone with broken bones or injured joints- in other words, most of them- sore with the bad weather.

No one really misses space all that much, but the climate control they had up there would be nice, today.

.

49\. Sleep (Monty)

You've never slept well, had problems staying asleep when you got there and even when you did, you never really slept all that deeply. It was one of the reasons you had started dipping into the greenhouses your parents cared for in the first place. It also turned out to be a good habit on the ground, where the daily crises did not care about your sleep cycle.

On the other hand, for all the Ark wasn't quiet, a camp of teenagers isn't either. And there's something to be said for actual walls when keeping noises out.

The sun is up when you're brought into the land of the living by a shriek of laughter, sounding like Liza, maybe. It's bright, brighter than it probably should be for just waking up, but it's made the tent just the right side of warm. You're so comfortable, still sleep heavy, but the sun is up and there are things that need doing-

“No, no- go back to sleep,”

You crack an eye open to find Miller, sitting on the side of the bed. He's watching you with a soft expression on his face, a softness that most people never get to see.

“'s bright out. Things t' do,” you mumble. You don't actually try to sit up, and your eyes are just open enough to watch the smile, still soft, slide onto Miller's face as he shakes his head.

“Nothing urgent. You barely slept last night, get some more rest.” He reaches out to push the dark strands of hair out of your eyes.

When he doesn't immediately remove his hand, you nuzzle into it sleepily. “I miss breakfast?” you ask.

He runs his thumb along your cheek, under you eye. “Yeah,” he confirms. “So there's no sense getting up when anything you have to do can wait until after lunch.”

You nod sleepily. “You staying?”

Miller hums. “I don't have anything important to do either.”

He lies down next to you, and you turn to snuggle up against him.

“Go back to sleep,” he says again, almost a whisper. The sun is warm and Miller is warm and your head is fuzzy with sleep. You close your eyes and fall back into dreams.

.

50\. Return (Bellamy)

The winter is coming up on them fast by the time they organize a party to search the crash site of the one Ark station that’s been found for anything useful, anything to help them survive the winter. It takes them so long because the Chancellor has to be first talked into allowing some of your people to go along, and then has to be talked _out_ of attempting to bring all the bodies back to Camp Jaha for burial.

“You kids buried your dead,” she points out to you, more than once. Explaining that several of your people aren’t in that graveyard Wells started your second day here, are in fact somewhere in the woods with Grounder weapons pinning them to trees- if they aren’t scattered and devoured by animals- doesn’t work. Its not until Chief Miller tells her they just don’t have the time or resources to move that many bodies that far that she lets the idea go. It isn’t the first time the way she wants the world to be and the way the world is down here conflict, but she seems to take it harder every time.

It’s Octavia, Lincoln, Miller, Monroe and you that end up going with the handful of the guard they can spare and Kane, and walking up that path, spotting the debris everywhere with Monroe by your side, you keep turning, half expecting to see Murphy, wherever the hell he is now, or Sterling, or Finn. It's like a missing tooth, your dead friends- you keep pushing your tongue against the space where they aren’t, surprised every time by their absence.

A good number of the bodies that used to be here no longer are, a realization you can see cross Monroe’s face. Last Octavia had been here, she had bigger things on her mind; you can see her clutching Lincoln’s hand like he’s about to disappear again.

The bodies that are left don’t stink as bad as you thought they would, by this point. Lincoln says something about the cold keeping them from rotting, right before one of the guards loses his lunch rations in a bush.

Captain Miller sighs, while his son catches your eye. You can see what he’s thinking- if this smell bothers them, what would they have thought of the smell of 300 odd still smouldering bodies? You had been out of the flames reach and you had still been choking on it, on the knowledge that the smell wasn’t just enemies, but your people too, ones who had been dead already or too hurt or slow to get away.

Octavia gets them all to work, shaking her head and giving orders to everyone but the guard and Kane. When they see you all getting to work, they’re quick to follow.

It’s Lincoln, Octavia, and Monroe who end up moving most of the bodies away from the things you’re sorting through and into a growing pile off to the side. Miller looks like he thinks he should be doing that job, but he also keeps glancing at his father when he finds another body, like he’s afraid he’s going to disturb him or disappoint him. You stay near him, signalling for one of the others whenever he does.

You think, if anything, Captain Miller would be proud of his son. But you would have though Clarke’s mother would be proud of her, instead of the steady horror that had grown with every hard choice her daughter made. Your mother had raised you to lie, hide, and manipulate to protect your family; it’s possible she didn’t teach you how most parents react to things like this.

There isn’t much to scavenge from the crash site- almost all tech has been shattered, any food lost. It’s like the first few days on the ground, finding anything from the dropship that wasn’t welded down- and some things that were- and finding a use for it.

Monroe and Lincoln strip the bodies of any clothing that’s intact and not covered in blood or dirt, a small amount in total. The rest of you collect parachute material, more of those seat-belts, and scrap metal that looks promising.

When you’ve gotten as much as there is to get, you all stand back, looking at the pile of dead. It’s possible you knew some of them; you probably knew a least a few, at least in passing. It’s impossible to tell by now.

“What are we doing with them?” Miller asks eventually.

The guard who vomited early pipes up hesitantly. “I don’t suppose we could bury them here?”

Lincoln shakes his head, toeing at the earth. “It’s already beginning to freeze. And the soil is rocky here. Even if each of us had a shovel, which none of us do,” he points out, “we would need to dig for much too long a time.”

Kane looks thoughtful for a long moment. “What would your people do, Lincoln?”

“The Trikru?” he looks surprised to be asked. “If we could not bring them home to their villages or build a pyre, we would leave them here to be returned to the earth, by animal or time.”

You can see the horror creeping across their faces, once again confronted with the practicalities of the ground. It’s Monroe who cuts it off, this time.

“Is it that different than shooting our dead out of an airlock to send them back to earth?”

“This way, they actually got to the ground, instead of whatever of them didn’t burn up in the atmosphere.” You point out.

Captain Miller glances at his son, who shrugs lightly. On the Captain’s face, you can see what you’ve been catching on his son’s all day- fear that the other will be appalled at what they have to do.

They decide, in the end, to follow the ways of the people who have managed to survive down here.

They're the one's who've lived, after all. They must do something right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 45\. _Sankru_ is the Grounder word for the Desert Clan, who are separate than the Nomadic people like Emori and her brother or the family Jaha meets
> 
> 46\. why is Octavia obsessed with the sheep? I don't have any clue. She names him Cirb, after the king of all rams in Irish myth
> 
> 47\. the OT3 is born!


	8. 51-55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> people say goodbye, name sheep, and winter arrives

51\. Leave (Raven)

Abby had given you Finn’s ashes, after Clarke turned them down.

She had pretended like she had collected them for you; like she hadn’t offered the only thing left of the boy you’ve loved forever to the girl who killed him.

The worst part had been that you couldn’t even blame her- either of them. Abby’s first thought had been for her daughter- who, at the time, had looked like she was heading for her own mental breakdown- and after having your own taste of Grounder justice, you felt like you should thank Clarke, for ending it quick. Death by one cut, in the arms of the girl he loved. It wasn’t such a bad way to go.

You had taken the ashes. Thanked Abby. And then, through everything that happened afterwards, never got around to scattering them. Never were in any place it seemed right, for Finn.

And then they started emptying out the dropship.

You waited until they were done- until the number of people bustling around it were almost none, before you brought out his ashes.

The graveyard is the most obvious place- lay him to rest with the others they lost. He helped dig some of these graves, you know; he knew which kid was in which hole, which ones were empty of remains. He left flowers, sometimes, for the Wells kid you never met, for others you did meet who died in front of you or far past your watchful eyes.

The unmarked graves are all the same to you, now, without Finn to point out which is which. They're all anonymous.

He would hate be here forever, be forgotten.

The dropship itself looks less like a massacre these days, skeletons taken away, but everything is stripped to the bones, and it's nothing of the home they had made here.

Miller and Karri have come with you, for this- these forests aren't meant to be travelled alone, if a person can help it. And with your leg... no one's letting you go on a hike by yourself, these days. They stand back, trying to be invisible to you in this moment, while you limp around, looking for a place to spread Finn's ashes.

The ironic part, the part that's ripping you up, is that these probably aren't even _his_. He was burned with all his victims, and there was no way to separate them all once the fire burned down. You're not even scattering him; you're scattering the people he shot dead as they ran for their lives.

You lean against a leafless tree, feeling the cold of oncoming winter deep in your bones.

He would have hated being in the graveyard. When you upend the ashes right in the middle of it, you don't cry.

.

52\. Attachment (Bellamy)

In the weeks following the unexpected thank-you gift from the Grounders, it becomes apparent that the sheep they brought seems to have taken a liking to your sister. Octavia, in return, has taken a liking to it.

No one's really sure what to _do_ with a sheep- obviously, the wool is useful, but the process of taking the thick hair that covers the animal and turning it into... well, anything other than a lump of wool, is beyond them. What they do know is that it would involve contraptions and skills of which they have neither of. The only other use for it is food, but between how skinny the animal is and Octavia's sword, it's decided to leave the creature be unless they run dangerously low on rations.

In the meantime, the sheep takes to following O everywhere- work duty, training, sleeping outside her tent until the temperature starts dropping to freezing every night. Then, the sheep sleeps inside the tent. 

Lincoln takes all this with good grace, quiet amusement, and the barely suppressed look of adoration for his girlfriend. 

She takes a week to ponder the proper name for the animal, spending off hours simultaneously sharpening her knives and looking at the sheep, deep in thought. 

You remember she had done the same thing- minus the knives- with her first doll; it had been an ugly little thing you had scrimped and saved, bartered and borrow and traded for until you had the materials to make it. She had loved that thing, and after her long pondering of names was over, Octavia decided on the name Joey. They had kept Joey the doll in the floor, half so Octavia would have something down there with her, half because you had been past the age where the doll could be passed off as yours in an inspection. 

When she finally chooses a name for the sheep, she calls it Cirb. The sheep says _baaaaah_. 

_._

53\. Storm (Bellamy) 

A blizzard blows in unexpectedly, just as vicious and violent as that hurricane you rode through in the old dropship, only bitingly cold and bringing piles and piles of snow. Echo is at Camp Jaha when it starts to blow in, and after a quick word with Lincoln, they're busying everyone with gathering their things and getting inside Alpha Station. By the time everyone's gotten the food and water and everything else they needed inside and they could close the doors, the snow was blowing so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. 

“Is this normal for this time of year?” Abby asks, sounding alarmed. 

"Yes,” says Echo, at the exact same time Lincoln says “no.” 

“Well that's helpful,” Octavia mutters. 

Lincoln explains, “We get these storms most years, though usually not this soon. But we had a cold summer.” 

Echo chuckles. “In my lands, they have already started. We almost did not come when the Commander called the clans. It was already winter.” 

Lincoln gives her a considering look. “I had wondered why so many Azgeda were still in the trees.” 

"Those of us who had things to go back to went back. I felt I'd be more use in TonDC than struggling through the winter roads, when there is nothing in Tepeg for me anyways.” Echo is holding herself as straight as usual as she says it, her face passive, but there's something lonely in her voice. “I suppose this means I will not be returning there until the summer.” 

“I'm sure you would be welcomed here,” Lincoln says, looking towards Abby. “Having one from the Ice People around during your first winter is better teaching than an entire village of Trikru. They know the ways of the cold.” 

Echo looks unimpressed. “It sounds as if we have some sort of connection with the snow. We're just good at not freezing to death. Those that are bad at it die young.” 

Abby takes a breath, smiling grimly. “Well. Seeing as no one here wants to freeze to death, we'd happily provide you with food and shelter and such in exchange for what you know.” 

You can feel some of the other Hundred looking at you, the way they always do when the Chancellor exercises her supposed authority over any of them. But this is Echo- the only people she has to answer to outside of the Ice Nation is Commander Lexa. 

"I was expected back in Ton DC,” she begins, then casts another look outside. “I don't think they will wonder too much why I have not returned on time.” 

Several people grin; even more sigh in relief. The Chancellor does both. 

Echo is very serious as she asks, “First- is it possible to light fires in here?” 

_._

54\. Laughter (Bellamy) 

Bree's the one who asks her, after they've settled down for the night and you've made sure all your people have sorted out sleeping arraignments. 

"What's it like, where you're from? Teep...” she trails off, trying to remember the name of the place Echo had mentioned earlier. 

“Tepeg,” Echo corrects. “It's the capital of the Azgeda- Ice Nation. My people have all land north of the frost line, the place where the earth never thaws- even in the height of summer. Of the Twelve Clans, we have the most land. Most is not liveable, of course.” 

"The ground never thaws?” you ask in surprise. “How do you survive? How do you grow food?” 

Echo smirked. “We hunt. We fish through the ice. We waste nothing. Some plants that don't need deep roots will grow in the summer, and we eat what they grow, and we trade with the other clans, for what they don't. We used to raid, before joining the Coalition.” 

Bree shuffles closer, resting her head on her girlfriend's shoulder. “Tell us more about Tepeg.” 

"It's a long way from either sea, west or east. There are buildings there, left from Before. Nothing above two floors, everything else has collapsed and crumbled, but there are many strong stone buildings that still remain. The Queen lives in one with her court. It's named the _Legsh_ , guarded by stone bison and metal men, rulers and wise people of the past. There is also,” she continues, looking very serious. “A giant, golden, naked man.” 

Bree burst out in quiet giggles. “You're not serious.” 

“Well,” Echo allows. “He was gold. Now most of it has worn away and he is ordinary metal. But he is large, and naked.” Pausing, she looks out from under her eyelashes. “Naked. And large.” 

That sets Bree off again, in the less quiet snorts she hasn't laughed with since Roma died. 

You're trying to contain your own laughter, because sound has always echoed in the Ark but never so much as it has since it touched down on the ground. Despite your best efforts, the noise travels out and away, but even the most disgruntled of your people only voice their protests half-heartedly. 

No one has heard much laughter, lately. You think they're probably enjoying it as much as you. 

_._

55\. Claustrophobia (Raven) 

In all honesty, you sort of feel sorry for Abby. Her job wasn't an easy one, and it couldn't of been made much easier by fifty teenagers running around, denying her authority and constantly comparing her to her daughter. 

In the newly tight quarters of Alpha Station, it becomes even more obvious. 

The snow outside has pushed them all into a space that wasn't meant to house half their numbers, and, despite Abby's best efforts, assigning people space doesn't work. The Hundred don't want to be split up or forced to live surrounded by the other Arkers, the families of the Hundred want to be with them, and Lincoln and Echo would probably rather be outside, even with the cold and snow. 

Really, the cabin fever is pushing everyone's fears and prejudges to the breaking point. There have been twelve accusations of thief against various- or in one case, all of them in general- delinquents, five fistfights, plenty of name-calling, and having that many bodies in one space is starting to smell. 

Abby and Bellamy are trying to settle an argument between two of their respective people when the thing you've been waiting for since they shut the doors finally happens. 

You don't know what sets it off, in that exact moment, and really you aren't sure how it hadn't happened before then- because this is the definition of enclosed space, and Octavia is claustrophobic. 

You're not the first to notice that she's gasping for breath; that's Lincoln, of course. As busy yelling at the Chancellor as Bellamy is, he doesn't notice until you hit his shoulder on your way to help Octavia, but once he does his argument is over, and him and Lincoln are making people move away from O, pushing and shoving in a way that'll get out of control real quick. 

Monty reaches your destination only moments after you, and between the two of you, the nearest door to the outside is opened, releasing a gust of chilled air inwards, fresher than you remember it being after your time stuck in here. 

Octavia exits immediately, Lincoln and Bellamy following without hesitation, a few more people cautiously sticking their heads out, then the rest of them, looking around at the field of shimmering white. 

It's not that deep, maybe three inches of snow, and the clouds that brought it and pushed you inside have cleared, leaving a shockingly blue sky and bright sunlight that looks like it should be warm but isn't. The crunch under your feet is- strange, nothing like the sharp feel of stepping on frosted grass. Everything is so, so quiet. 

Up ahead of you, Octavia is calming down. You can see her breath coming slower, each exhale fogging out in front of her. She's leaning against Lincoln, leaving Bellamy hovering awkwardly by her side. 

Scooping a handful of snow off the ground, you pack it, roll it into a ball, and aim. 

Bellamy's sputter of shock when the snowball hits is hilarious, and when he turns to find who threw it, he narrows his eyes at you, scooping up a handful of his own. 

As the snowball fight grows larger and more ridiculous, Octavia stands with Lincoln, breathing and looking at the sky. 

Afterwards, Echo, Lincoln, and Bellamy consult with Abby. The Ark doors will remain closed, but not locked, and while everyone still had be inside at night and during storms, the rest of the time they were allowed to roam within the gates. 

Until spring came around and they could pitch their tents again, it would do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 52\. Cirb, in Irish myth, is the king of all Rams. Why has a sheep imprinted on Octavia? I have no clue, but it's happened. Deal with it.
> 
> 54\. Cue me ignoring all S3 canon about the Ice Nation and probably the geography of North America for my own headcanons


	9. 56-62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> winter ends, and Clarke comes home

56\. Tradition (Bree)

“Do the sky people celebrate the Long Night?” Echo asks you one evening, her arm wrapped around you against the slight chill.

It had been a warm day, more like fall than winter, and as the sun set and the temperature didn't drop too severely, the Chancellor had allowed people to stay outside after dark, lighting a bonfire and sitting around it. It had been the younger sky people mostly, but by now the only people left over nineteen are Bellamy and the Grounders- or, you assume Echo and Lincoln are older than nineteen, but its harder to tell, you think, with Grounders.

“What's the Long Night?” You ask from your place against Echo's side. Bellamy had gone off to talk to- someone or other, and the fire was warm, and Echo was warm, and the air was cool and the sky was bright with a nearly full moon and the shimmering of stars.

“The Long Night- it's one of four days through the turn of the year. One day for each season- our word for it is _Sosik_. The Long Night happens in winter- you've noticed, I'm sure, that since you've landed, daylight lasts less and moonlight longer?” when you nod, she continues, “the Long Night is the day where daylight is shortest, and night is longest. And from there, the nights begin to shorten and the days lengthen. The spring and fall Sosik are when the dark and light are equal. In summer, it's known as the long day, when the daylight lasts longest. We observe them all, but the Long Night is the most celebrated.” 

“I think we learned something about that on the Ark, but we didn't celebrate them or anything.”

Echo runs her fingers through your hair, begins weaving a few of the strands into a thin braid. “The Long Night is soon,” she tells you. “I haven't celebrated properly for- since I lost my family. But we used to save food special for the Long Night, and in the days before we would go hunting, hoping to find fresh meat. We would have a large dinner, not just my parents and siblings, but my parent's siblings, and their children, and my grandparents, before they died. We wouldn't sleep, only eat and laugh and sing and give presents to each other.”

All of this sounds vaguely familiar, and you frown. “Presents? Wait... when did you say the Long Night is?”

She makes a considering noise. “Next week, I believe.”

“So, the end of December, then,” you realize, sitting up. “You celebrate a holiday at the end of December by having a family dinner and exchanging gifts?”

Echo is giving you a confused look. “That is what I said.”

You can feel the grin trying to cross your face, but clamp down on it long enough to ask one final question. “Do all the clans celebrate it like that? Do the Trikru?”

When she nods, you laugh in delight and call for Bellamy. When he comes over, you pull him down to sit with you and Echo. He gives you a questioning look.

“Bellamy. _Bellamy. The Grounders celebrate Christmas_.”

His jaw drops a little, before his eyes light up. “Really? Christmas, like, gift-giving and tree-decorating?”

“They call it 'the Long Night', but-”

Echo frowns. “We have no trees in the ice, but I believe other clans may do something involving them.” she turns to you. “You celebrated... Christmas, on the Ark?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “We didn't really have- that many things to give. And families were small. It might have been celebrated at the beginning, but we only ever heard about it.”

Something else Echo said hits you then. “Echo hasn't celebrated it in years,” you tell him, and a small smile breaks out across his face.

“Echo hasn't celebrated in years, and we _never_ have. When is this Long Night, again?”

“Next week. Lincoln might be able to tell you more accurately. Are you- you think we should celebrate.”

“I think we should.”

And that was how the next week was turned from a normal one to days full of preparation. That night and the next day, you and Bellamy went around explaining.

“Christmas?” Harper exclaimed when you told her, exchanging a look with Monroe and Joule as they worked on their assigned job of the day- watering and taking care of the few plants they had inside the Ark. “We're celebrating Christmas?”

“We're trying,” you tell them, before turning to Monroe. “We're hoping to get a hunting party together, try and get a non-dried meal,”

She nods seriously. “I'm in. Report to Bellamy?”

“Yeah. Harper, if you could spread the word? And Joule, you're pretty good with decorations and stuff, right?”

She tilts her head in recognition. “I'm good at turning junk into not-junk. I could definitely try my hand at- are we decorating a tree, or just general decorations?”

“Not sure yet. We'd have to get permission from the Chancellor to bring a whole tree into the camp, or to hang outside the fence for a couple hours.” you both exchange a look, knowing how difficult it is to get permission to do _anything_.

Harper looks curious. “But not to have a hunting party leave the camp?”

You smile. “Raven's gate. Besides, they can't keep Lincoln or Echo locked inside. If either of them want to leave, they have to open the gates. Bellamy knows the plan better.”

From there, word spreads. Those of them who have food stashed away- most of them, in other words, because they're used to being hungry- bring it out, offer it for the dinner. Some of the more handy delinquents find enough scrap to build a long table, big enough to fit half a hundred, and the scavengers of their group scrape together enough chairs, crates, tree stumps, and anything else that could work as seats for all of them. They go to Kane for permission to bring in a tree, who stares at them quizzically but opens the gates and gives them a saw, saying _what harm could it do?_ when the Chancellor protests. The tree itself is decorated with an odd mix of scrap metal and precious trinkets, long woven ropes and lights that Raven hooks up glowing behind the branches. The hunting party comes back successful the day before, a one-winged large bird that couldn't fly south when the weather turned and several of the large rodents that populate the trees. Monty's still produces a steady amount of moonshine, tasting less foul after Echo had given him some tips. Lincoln offers an alternative to everyone needing multiple gifts with an old tradition from his village- everyone is assigned one person, and they supply one gift for that one person; everyone is assigned to someone, so everyone gives one gift and gets one gift.

And then the day is there, the table laid out with the food they had scraped together, the tree they had decorated shining light down on them, everyone sitting on the hastily made seats and passing each other the gifts they had managed to get- woodcarvings and things made from scrap, jewelry and knives, articles of clothing and Grounder made makeup, things handmade and things traded and things from the world before.

Everyone gets steadily drunk on moonshine, and when they're done eating a fire is lit, large and warm like that first night down here. Someone tries to explain to Lincoln about Santa Claus, but that's apparently something that's been lost on the ground.

Echo comes up from behind you while you're watching Monty try to convince Miller to dance with him, wraps her arms around you. Rests her chin on your shoulder. “Thank you,” she says, soft in your ear.

You look around, see your friends- your _family_ \- happy and excited to be celebrating this, and you turn in Echo's arms, press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Thank _you_ ,” you repeat.

It's warm that night, and the area has been cleared of snow. Most of you end up sleeping on the frozen ground, drawing heat from the bonfire and wrapped in blankets and each other, and you think: this could be a good tradition.

.

57\. Bitter (Bellamy)

One day, Echo tells you to get a party of gatherers together and ready to go beyond the fence, and disappears to find Dr. Griffin. 

The mood in the Ark has been- not great, lately, everyone exhausted and short tempered, their rations becoming smaller and smaller as the winter goes on and their stores are depleted, even the grass and hay Octavia had collected for Cirb. It's nearly all dried meat, now, which got old after about a week. You don't have a hard time convincing Monty, Faraday, and Monroe to go somewhere beyond the mass of people that is Camp Jaha.

Echo leads them out of the gate and into the tree line, peering around before turning to you. “Pine needles,” she says. “That's what we're gathering today. The green ones.”

It's not hard to find the green in the empty trees, the small green spears still on their branches. Gathering them without taking hours and not stabbing yourself, however, is more difficult.

“Uh, Echo?” Monty asks. “We're not collecting these to eat, right?”

“Not to eat,” Echo confirms, and you're relieved. These needles are surprisingly painful, stiff with the cold, but then she continues, “We're going to drink them.”

The others stop, look at you. You clear your throat. “How?”

She smiles her secretive smile. “ _Veesitee_ ,” she explains. At the confused looks she gets, she goes on, “It's a drink my people have. Pine needles and water is all it is, and it keeps you well. I thought your people should try it.”

So they do. They cut up the needles, sort out any tree bits, gather water, and boil the green until the water is tinted with it. It smells fresh and clean like nothing has since winter began.

It tastes, however, like turpentine.

.

58\. Agoraphobia (Monty)

You find him in a nook in the wall inside the Ark, gasping for air and clutching his knife defensively in front of him, back pressed to the far wall, eyes darting everywhere. When he sees you, he jerks, and for a moment, pure relief works across his face.

It's probably the most alarming thing about all of this- Jasper hasn't looked at you with anything but anger or disgust or full on grief since Maya died. But there's no time to think about that, because he's still your best friend, your brother, and he's having a panic attack with an illegal weapon inside the Ark.

“Jasper, hey, you need to breathe. Come on, breathe with me, okay?” You breathe slowly, in and out in the way Octavia had taught you when Jasper started having these attacks, after the spearing.

He breathes with you after a moment, and you slowly, so slowly, reach out to grab the knife. Jasper lets it go easily, and you tuck it away before a passing guard sees it and arrests you both- again. You grab the hand that was holding it, clutching at it tightly, moving further into the nook. You keep up the breathing and calming the whole time, until Jasper's breath has slowed and his eyes are closed. He's trembling, but he's okay now, for the given value of okay.

“Hey,” you say softly, and he opens his eyes. “Do you wanna talk about it? Or- do you want me to leave?” Because with everything, your presence might make this all worse for him, now that he's not freaking out.

But Jasper only grips your hand tighter, shaking his head. “Stay. Please.” His eyes open, and he looks at you. “I know I've been a jerk, but please-” he cuts off, and you squeeze his hand.

“I'll stay. Of course I'll stay.” And you do.

.

59\. Promise (Octavia)

You don't know what it is that sets it off- or, you do, because the snow is beginning to melt and everyone feels restless, but you don't know the exact reason- one moment everything is fine, and the next some Arker has spit at Echo, who before you can blink has broken the guy's nose.

Kane is over to you before the guy- Robson, you think- has even got back off the ground, clutching his bloody nose, Echo swearing up a storm in Trigedasleng words you recognize and Azsleng words you don't yet know. Just as he appears beside them, Echo spits, hitting maybe-Robson right below his eye. She brings her leg back to kick at the man, and Kane jumps in.

He's smart enough not to touch her, thankfully, because she's in the kind of mood where she'd probably deck him, too. He only steps between the two, holding his hands up and speaking to her like a startled horse.

“Woah, woah, hey,” Kane says, and waits for Echo to stop fuming enough to speak English.

“For months I have stayed in this place, trapped by electricity and metal walls, watching you fools make more mistakes with the cold than I've ever seen _anyone_ make, children included! I have helped coax your people back from hypothermia and frostbite and helped your cooks ration the food stores so your people do not starve, and in thanks I am distrusted and _spat_ on.”

Kane takes that in and turns to Robson. “And what do you have to say?”

He's gotten to his knees by now, wiping at his face while clutching his nose. “She hit me!” his words are slurred with the blood and broken nose. “Arrest her!”

Echo scoffs. “I don't answer to Skaikru laws.”

You make a noise of agreement. “She doesn't. You do, though. You spat at her? That's assault.”

Robson only kneels there, glaring, for a long time. “Fuck this, and fuck the both of you. Fuck the Grounders and fuck the Hundred, you all should of been floated.”

Kane ignores him, turning back to Echo. “Do you want to press charges?”

She watches Robson for a long moment. “I don't answer to your laws, I won't use them for myself. I've made him bleed; that's enough for me.” She spots Bellamy across camp and stomps away to him, her anger a physical thing moving people out of her way.

Kane sighs like the whole world is exhausting, and gestures to Robson. “Get up. Go to medical. Before I charge you for disturbing the peace.”

After he's done as he's told, you turn to Kane. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

He looks at you for a moment before smiling a little. “Not on my end. I'd advise none on your side commit any more assaults, though. Tensions are running high.”

You're grudgingly pleased with him for acknowledging the huddle of tents it's been warm enough to set back up away from the Ark Station as a separate group as well. “Can't promise anything,” you admit.

He smiles again, turning to the woods. “No,” he agrees. “No one can promise anything down here.”

You leave when he doesn't turn back to you, only remains smiling off into the distance, but he's right. Nothing's predictable on the ground.

.

60\. Home (Clarke)

You come home at the end of the winter, when the ground has thawed, new green blades of grass are poking up out of the earth, the days are getting longer, and the sun is warm. You return with new scars, deep bruises under your eyes, and shoulders that feel lighter than they have for far, far too long.

Walking up to the gates of Camp Jaha is at once as difficult and as easy as it was to walk away from, what feels like a lifetime ago but in reality was the single turn of a season. 

The guards on duty blink at you as you approach. You can’t blame them: you’re nowhere near as bad as you were the first time you ever came to Camp Jaha, the night Anya was killed, but you know you must look a mess. The trails are muddy from snowmelt, and you suspect it's in your hair, on your face, and you can _see_ it on your clothing.

A call goes out when they spot you, and by the time you’ve reached the gates there are people waiting. Lincoln, Kane, and Monroe are standing there with a few of the Guard, who are already preparing to open the gate.

Lincoln recognizes you first, your name passing his lips like a question. Kane’s eyes widen, and he turns to Monroe, telling her “get the Chancellor”. She takes off with a quick smile flashed at you, and you can tell she’s making a pitstop to Bellamy or Raven or someone before your mother by the direction she runs. It makes you smile, to know that much hasn’t changed.

The rest of the Hundred show up as you walk through the open gates, looking at you in shock and joy, more smiles than you've seen directed at you in longer than you can remember.

It's Raven and the Blake siblings that step forward, first. You have enough time to notice that Raven's moving better, limping less, before she's thrown her arms around you in a strong hug. Before she can pull away, Octavia's there on your other side, and then Bellamy, and Monty, and more and more until its the largest group hug you’ve ever seen- fifty teenagers clinging to each other, laughter echoing through the crowd that's now completely blocking the gate, other Arkers looking on in amusement.

You take the time to look over your people. They look- healthy, for the most part. Tired, but not any more so than you would have expected. Some of the gunners and other fighters have noticeable injuries, but they’re not starving, not under constant attack.

You try to count heads, get a number to see if you've lost anyone while you were gone, but your mother shows up before you can.

The arms around you let go, shuffling away when they hear you say “Mom?” You smile at her, tentatively. You've thought about your mother nearly every day since you left; thought about how disappointed she must be in you, how angry she must be with you, how afraid she must be for you.

None of that shows on her face now, though. At this moment, her eyes are shining, her face filled with hope as she spots you, opening her mouth to say, “Clarke?” It's all she says before running to you, wrapping her arms around your dirty clothes and pressing her face into your muddy hair. “Clarke. Clarke, oh god, you're back, you're home...”

She keeps murmuring those kinds of things while you clutch her back, until she either hears or senses Bellamy, hovering behind her and moves away- but only far enough that she can still rest her hand on your shoulder, can still feel you're really here.

“Sorry, Chancellor,” Bellamy says. “Just thought Clarke would want to know- we didn't lose anyone over the winter.” He smiles wide. “Welcome home, Princess.”

For the first time in a long, long time, when you start to cry, it's not for sadness.

.

61\. Party (Bellamy)

They welcome Clarke back with the biggest party they've had since Unity Day- and maybe not even that, maybe the biggest since that first night down here, wild and reckless and acting like the teenagers they are. They build the bonfire high, chasing away the nighttime chill, while you show Clarke around the section of camp their people have claimed. It's not a very large area, and before long you're leading Clarke to an empty tent- the one they've been keeping empty, for her, for when she came back.

Clarke almost tears up again when you tell her that. “What if I hadn't come back?” she asks.

You shrug, smile at her wide. “We would've kept waiting. Now come on, Princess, Monty got his still up and running again and Lincoln's been teaching some of us how to play Grounder instruments. We've got moonshine and music waiting on us. Just need the guest of honour.” She takes your hand when you extend it, pulling her along to the bonfire.  
More than moonshine and music, they have food, a hodgepodge collection of various kinds, enough to count as a feast. Tilly, a small, round girl, is standing next to it, looking all sorts of proud. 

“We all brought a bit of whatever we had stored, or extra stuff, now that winter's over,” she smiles. “So we have enough to celebrate properly!”

And they do. They play music, mixes of Trigedakru music and the music they had up on the Ark, making a new kind of sound. One of the musicians laughs when he stops playing to take a drink of Monty's moonshine, saying it's their own music- the dance of the delinquents.

“Former delinquents, thank you very much,” someone else objects.

Del nods in agreement. “Besides, we're still the Hundred. Now that we've got our Princess back!” he slants a smile at Clarke, and Octavia raises her drink in response.

“To our Princess!” she calls out in that voice that once yelled we're back, bitches! And everyone echoes back raising their glasses and then draining them, laughing and cheering.

Clarke laughs, too, the sound light and happy.

When you bring her a refill, she asks you, “Won't we get in trouble? We must be disturbing people.”

You smile- you haven't really stopped since she's gotten back. “Relax, Princess. We're far enough from the Arkers that we don't bother them. So they don't bother us.”

She frowns at that a bit, beginning to ask, “How has everything been while I was gone?” before you cut her off, shaking your head.

“We'll talk about our people and our plans tomorrow, Clarke. For now, just have fun!” You grab her hand, pulling her towards the other dancers, and the two of you do just that.

.

62\. Music (Clarke)

You don't dance for very long, tired from the journey home and happy to watch everyone else dance. You find somewhere to sit and do just that, let yourself feel at home, relaxed and happy.

Various people come by throughout the night, to sit and drink with you before going off to dance again. You're never left alone for long, though, Raven sitting down and showing off the new leg brace she'd made, Harper talking about how glad she was it was warming up, Miller joking around, even Jasper, who only wrapped his long arms around you and hugged tight for a long, quiet moment, before going off on a story of one of the ridiculous things him and Monty had gotten up too while you were gone.

By the time the fire is burning down and people are making their way off to bed, groups of three or four heading for each tent- making you appreciate, again, that they saved a whole tent for you- you're yawning yourself.

The last thought you have before falling asleep is how glad you are to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 56\. uhm. Merry Christmas? I mean, this drabble wasn't even _written_ near xmas, it was written in August, so it probably doesn't matter that it's actually February, now. Sosik is slurred from the word solstice,
> 
> 57\. fun fact! Veesitee is an actual drink, and it is an excellent source of vitamin C, hence the name- I've slurred the slang name for it, 'vitamin C tea', into Veesitee. It does, in fact, also taste like turpentine, but better that than scurvy.
> 
> 59\. I've tried to make a more tolerant and peaceful culture in this universe than canon is likely to ever give us, but there's always going to be bigoted assholes. And, unfortunately, the best way to bring them out is force them to live in close quarters in shitty weather. The cold has a way of making us who we truly are.
> 
> 60-62. ha. hahahaha. I hate these kids and their friendship.


	10. 63-66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spring is for beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. After that episode, have something a little more lighthearted

63\. Scent (Octavia)

With the snow gone and the weather warming, things begin to grow.

It's the leaves on the trees that come back first, little buds of green peppering the brown branches they've all become familiar with, slowly blooming until the trees make a whispering noise with every stray breeze.

Animals begin to emerge, too, flocks of birds passing overhead in their V shapes, squawking and singing to each other above them. Smaller things, too, ones you hadn't really noticed were gone- insects especially. The snow had had its own beauty, the silence it had cast on everything and the glitter the sun had cast on it, making it shine, the sound it made when you stepped in it, but this is beautiful too.

This is your third season on the ground, and you loved them all- but, though you've yet to see summer, you think spring is your favourite.

It's cemented as your favourite when Lincoln brings you flowers, newly sprouted and delicate in ways you find amazing, that it can grow and live long enough for more of it to spread. 

When you kiss him in thanks, the smell of the flowers- fresh and green and sweet- mixes with his own smell, and you think _yeah. I like spring._

.

64\. Boxes (Clarke)

The first Skaikru to die on the ground of natural causes is an older man named Weber; he has a stroke one day while chopping wood.  There’s no warning, and nothing to be done. According to your mother, he was most likely dead before he hit the ground, a phrasing she seems to regret the moment she says it.

He doesn’t have any family, parents long dead and never married, no close friends that made it to the ground. But he’s one of them, so they build him a coffin- the first space born person to be buried in one- and gather for his funeral.

Its a quiet affair; no one really knew him enough to speak about him. But they try. People stand up to talk about how Weber had calmed them down when they were waiting to launch; the way he always had a kind smile on a hard day; how he had, that way, been a reassurance when things were worst.

When they lower the coffin into the earth, outside the fences without fear of attack, it feels like something has changed.

.

65\. Farmer (Bellamy)

The first time Lexa comes to Camp Jaha after she led her army away from Mount Weather, she brings with her three Grounders who are obviously not warriors, even though their strength is evident; their muscled arms and shoulders making it clear that even if they aren't wearing armour and carry themselves differently than Lexa's guard or Lexa herself, they live their lives by their bodies anyways.

“What are you doing here?” Chancellor Griffin asks through the gate. The Grounders are on the other side, and no one's made a move to open them yet. Lexa doesn't look happy, but she doesn't look surprised, either.

The Commander doesn't hesitate at the harsh tone. “I wish to move forward in our alliance. To repair what was broken at the Mountain, and to assure peace between our people.” She tells the assembled group of Arkers. It's not many- just the Chancellor, the on-duty Guards, and you- most people are at lunch right now. You're only here because you happened to spot the approaching Grounders on your way to the mess.

“So you want to begin another alliance? Do you want to torture another of our people to death, first?” Dr. Griffin asks, her voice scathing.

Lexa doesn't flinch, only asks, calmly, “Has another one of your people committed a massacre since we last spoke?” When Abby doesn't answer, only narrows her eyes, she continues, “Will you let us inside, Chancellor?”

Before she can answer, a familiar voice calls out, “Lexa?” from behind them. When you turn, you see Clarke coming towards them, walking so quickly it's more of a jog.

Lexa smiles at the approaching blonde. “Hello, Clarke.”

Clarke matches it with a smile of her own, before frowning at the still closed gate, then the guards. “Let them in,” she orders.

“No,” Dr. Griffin shakes her head at the guards (who you almost feel bad for, because they trust Clarke more than the Chancellor when it comes to Grounders, but Clarke is not _their_ leader. They're looking between the two Griffin women like they're playing catch.) before turning back to her daughter. “Clarke, we can't just _let them in_. Last we saw her, she was leaving us to our deaths!”

“Last _you_ saw her,” Clarke corrects. “Some of the time I was away, I was with Lexa. Now let her in.” her mother's eyes widen in shock.

“Chancellor,” you speak up, “I doubt the Commander is attacking us with four people. It can't hurt to let them in.”

“Mom,” Clarke's voice is soft, not-quite pleading.

Dr. Griffin exhales in frustration, and waves a hand for the gate to be opened. When the five Grounders are inside, she nods in acknowledgement. “Commander. Welcome to Camp Jaha. Why are you here?”

Clarke sighs, “Mom!” and steps towards Lexa, extending her hand. Lexa grasps the forearm in the Grounder handshake, a smile making it's way across her face as her eyes soften.

“Clarke of the Sky People,” she greets her. Lexa isn't wearing her warpaint, and she looks younger without the dark kohl across her eyes and cheeks.

“Commander Lexa kom Trikru,” she responds. They smile at each other for a long moment, hands wrapped around each others wrists until Dr. Griffin clears her throat pointedly. “What _are_ you doing here? Is this about the-”

“Farming, yes,” the Commander finishes Clarke's sentence. It's obviously something they've spoken of before, and it makes the blonde light up with a smile.

Dr. Griffin sounds curious, but still suspicions, when she asks, “Farming?”

Lexa gestures to the three non-warriors she's brought. “This is Rahn, Tenda, and Leo. They are farmers by trade. I've brought your people seeds and the like, as well as tools. What I've been told is needed to grow crops. They will teach you to do so.” When Dr. Griffin doesn't say anything, Lexa adds, “You had farmers and farms up there, I've been told, but that section isn't down here, is it?”

“No,” Dr. Griffin confirms. “No, we haven't located that station yet. We have one or two people from Farm Station who came down with us, who know about growing things up there, but that was- greenhouses, controlled environments. Fewer variables. Your people's help would be... greatly appreciated.”

“Then you will have it.” She told her.

“Why?” Dr. Griffin asks, bluntly. “Why go out of your way to help us start crops? Even if you wanted peace between us, you could have just assured us our safety from your people and gotten the same promise from us in turn.”

Clarke has set her jaw, her posture rigid. “Mom-”

The Commander cuts her off before she can say anything else. “There are several reasons, Abby Griffin,” she explains. “The first is thanks.”

“Thanks?”

“Many years ago, before this body had life, our friends, our neighbours, our family members began disappearing. Some were never seen again. The ones we did see again were worse. The reapers were more than a danger- we did not know how, but we knew anyone could become one. And anyone could be taken by the mountain. It was our greatest fear, our greatest enemy, and now it is nothing but a hollowed rock. We did not do that- it was the Sky People who did. So, yes, thanks.” She took a breath, then continued. “Second, you have claimed to have knowledge and things we do not- just as my people have knowledge and things you forgot or never had to learn in the sky. I believe you had a member of the Azgeda with you for the winter?”

You clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. Echo. She's-”

“I know Echo.” Lexa's eyes glint mischievously for a moment. “Although I believe you _know her_ in a different sense, Bellamy.”

“I don't kiss and tell,” you say, before you remember you're talking to the Commander.

But she only snorts lightly, says, “Echo does,” before turning back to Dr. Griffin, who looks as shocked at that exchange as you are. “Her knowledge of the snows helped?”

“Yes. She was incredibly helpful.”

“There is more to be learned. Just as there are things to be learned from you. And beyond knowledge, there are things we have that you don't, and things you have that we don't. Trade and barter are a way of life here.”

Dr. Griffin nodded, relaxed. “Well. I can accept those reasons. Lunch will be ending soon, but we could probably round up a couple meals for you all- did you travel far?”

She began leading the Grounders towards the kitchen, talking to one of the farmers, a woman about her age with tanned olive skin and silky black hair.

You and Clarke fall to the back of the procession, and after a quick word with the one guard she brought, Lexa falls back too, smiling at Clarke before looking to you.

“Bellamy,” she greets you, warily.

“Commander,” you respond, then hesitate. “So, thanks and a desire for knowledge? Those are the only reasons?” You look at Clarke, standing between the two of you, meaningfully. She rolls her eyes.

Lexa tells you, “I thought I'd wait for a more appropriate time to inform Abby Griffin of the third reason.”

“You're sticking around, then.” Your feelings about Lexa are complicated at best, you know. She's a good leader and a good ally, but it's definitely in that order- her people come first. You can't even fault her for that, are pretty sure that if that bastard in Mount Weather had told you your people could go free, alive, but only if you left all those Grounders in their cages... you would have taken it.

But also, you remember Fox's shy, sly smile, and how small her body had been when they had retrieved it from the tunnels, thankfully untouched by reapers. You remember Clarke's face when she had shot Dante Wallis, and you remember watching the video feed on the drilling room. You remember a lever that had to be pulled, and the bodies it had made when it was. You don't know how different it would have been if the Grounder army had stayed, had broken through Mount Weather's doors and fought, what horrors you would remember instead. But you can't help but wonder if there'd be less.

“I cannot stay in Camp Jaha for long, but it is peacetime. There is nowhere I must be urgently. I would stay for a time, if-” she breaks off, looks at Clarke. “If there is a place for me.”

Clarke smiles at the other girl. “I have a tent all to myself,” she tells her in a low voice, then raises it and turns to you. “For _some_ reason, even though the other tents seem to have three or four people in them.”

“The Princess gets her own tent, it's just the rules, Clarke,” you explain breezily. She mock-scowls at you, and you laugh as she brushes her hand against Lexa's, not holding it, just... touching.

You're not sure how to feel about Lexa. But in this, like so many other things, you decide to follow Clarke's lead. 

When Lexa notices they've lagged behind and the others are already there, she turns to Clarke, says, “Race you,” and takes off. Clarke, laughing, chases her, and her golden hair trails behind her, the sun hitting it and making it shine while the sound of her happiness echos, and you think anyone that makes Clarke laugh like that, after everything, deserves at least a second chance.

.

65\. Running (Octavia)

“I hate this place so much!”

Jasper's words are nearly lost in the wind as they run, the sound of their heavy footsteps loud with leaves and cracking branches.

You yell back, “Then you shouldn't of volunteered to go hunting!”

“I didn't think we'd end up running from a giant rat!” 

That is a fair point.

.

66\. Night (Clarke)

On the Ark, tattoos weren't illegal, but they were banned.

Most of the Grounders you've explained this to don't seem to understand the difference, but basically: _banned_ means you shouldn't do it and that anyone in a position of authority would discourage and stop any activity; _illegal_ meant that if you got caught doing it, you were dead.

 _Banned_ meant that the few Arkers who had ink in their skin only had small designs or words, hidden under clothing, done with a pen and a needle. You were known as an artist and a person with medical talent, and as such had been the one wielding the pen more that once, before the Sky-Box. You thought you did pretty decent work. 

The Grounders brought that assumption crashing down, as they seemed prone to do.

You traced your fingers across Lexa's back, around swirls and sharp edges in dark contrast to her skin.

“Each clan has different tattoos, different meanings. Different things that are important enough to immortalize on our skin.” She explains. “The Ice Nation marks every warrior with their sign,” she traces her finger along your wrist in four quick, intersecting lines. “But also a new mark for every winter they survive past childhood. The Boat People bare a reminder of every storm they've weathered. The Desert Clan marks droughts. It goes on. All the Coalition marks our kills the same way, though.”

“Does everything have a meaning?”

Lexa shakes her head. “No,” she explains. “Some are just decoration. Others have meaning, but only personal. For loved ones, or things we see in dreams.”

“Dreams?” your voice is soft as you lever yourself back down to the bed, until Lexa is hovering over you.

“Have you never had a dream that felt more real, more important that normal?” Her eyes are focused on you, a strange quirk in her brow that means she's halfway expecting this to be another thing your people and hers differ in.

But you have had dreams like that; you dreamt of the ground, the way sunlight would hit the green of the leaves, the way the air would smell. You had always woken and dismissed them as just wishful fancy, reminded yourself you would never see the ground, that they were generations away from it. But in that state of half-sleep right before your eyes opened, you knew it was more than that.

It's possible you even dreamt of the Grounders, once, the year you caught a flu and there was a shortage of antibiotics. Your fever had hit dangerous levels and you couldn't hold down food or liquid, and spent a day caught in fever dreams of skull-faced people and fire.

You don't tell Lexa that. You just nod.


	11. 67-71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after every episode now I end up just working more on this universe. Most recently, I sketched Octavia and Lincoln's future home. It has a garden out front that Lincoln defends valiantly from birds and other animals that would threaten it. No one dies because they're too busy not being tortured, mentally or physically.

67\. Berries (Octavia)

There's a patch of berries growing barely a hundred yards from Camp Jaha, easily within sight of the Guard. All it takes to open the gate for a day out picking them is Monty's reassurance that they're good to eat, and that they should gather them before the birds and other animals do.

Besides Cirb, it's just four of you today, you, Lincoln, Monty, and Harper, her mood buoyed by the warm weather, the end of the damp spring lessening her pain. Her and Monty run a little ahead, tilting their faces up into the sunlight.

When they all get to the patch, you and Lincoln hand them the containers they'd gathered to use to collect the picked berries, while Cirb settles in on the patch of thick grass nearby, grazing happily.

“Look for the red ones, not greenish or white or black,” Monty instructs. “The ones that are ready for picking should come off the plant easily, without having to pull. Just use a finger and a thumb, they're soft so be gentle. We can come back again later, once the ones that aren't ripe right now are, so don't worry about that.”

Lincoln kneels down into the dirt next to you, plucking a bright red berry off. He stands, holding the berry out to you and placing it in your mouth; you bite down on it, the juice bursting across your tongue, sharp and sweet and warm from the sun, tiny seeds getting stuck in your teeth. He smiles at your delight.

You all spread out, combing through the bushes for little bursts of red. You all eat more than you probably should, but you try to stick to the ones that are already squishy- they wouldn't keep for much longer, anyways, according to Monty. “We'll probably be turning most of this into either jam or drying them,” he tells them. “They don't stay good long enough otherwise.”

They stay out picking berries until their spines are sore from bending and the backs of their necks are bright red from too much sun. Their containers are all more or less full by the time they head back in for dinner, hungry despite the constant snacking, and though they hand most of them over to the kitchen, you save enough for the others, passing them around after dinner. Your fellow delinquents all close their eyes when they bite down, savouring the taste.

For all the ground has turned out to be ugly and violent and cruel, its good to remember, sometimes, that it also gives you this- sunshine and beauty and the joy of delicious food. The ground isn't just death. It's also life.

.

68\. Sleeveless (Clarke)

The weather is turning, the spring is ended, and the people of the Ark are, once again, missing the constant climate control of space.

While winter was difficult, you could always put on another layer, grab another fur, put kindling on the fire- they'd all been glad once they could start taking those layers _off_ , but it just kept getting _warmer_ , until it was the peak of summer and everyone just wanted to cool off.

Lexa visits often, now that it's peacetime and the weather is good for travel. When she arrives, both her and her Grounder entourage strip out of their heavy armour, revealing lightweight, loose-fitting, cool-looking clothing. You're in the long jeans and dark shirt you've been wearing since- well, since you got them, as is everyone else at Camp Jaha. The Grounders had helped them through winter by giving them warmer clothing to put over top, but on the Ark you wore a piece of clothing until it stopped fitting or until it no longer counted as clothing- and then you got one new item to replace it, and it started again.

“Clarke,” Lexa greets you, looking you up and down. “Aren't you warm?”

Once again, the Grounders are proven better at living on the ground. You laugh a bit, thinking about how many people you've heard complaining about how warm they are, never thinking that maybe they might need more than one change of clothing for this world that has weather.

“Lexa,” you say very seriously, looking at the bare arms of the Grounders, “my people would very much appreciate it if your people gave us some pointers on practical summer clothing. And more immediately, I would be very, _very_ grateful if you helped me figure out a way not to have to be _so warm all the time_.” You can feel the fabric clinging against your skin, soaking through with sweat. “I _hate_ these clothes,” you add passionately.

Lexa smirks, steps forward to grab your hands in her own. “Clarke,” she says, leading you into your tent, “I would be happy to help you remove your clothing. I can't promise you'll stay cool for long afterwards, though.”

She's already dragging your shirt over your head, and even though this wasn't exactly what you meant, you are not complaining.

.

69\. Children (Clarke)

The kids from the Ark who made it to the ground have been making use of the wide-open space to run around in to invent new games. Today, there's a group of them running around, one chasing the others, trying to catch one of them. They're calling it 'run and catch', or something- all you know about it is it seems to require as much screaming and noise as one group of kids can possibly make. Which, as it turns out, is a lot.

“Ah,” Lexa says, coming up behind you while you watch them. “Your people have tag as well?”

You turn to look at her. “'Tag'? This is a Grounder game?” When she nods, you laugh. “No, we didn't have this up there. Not enough room, I guess. These kids just invented it. Or, reinvented it, I guess.”

Lexa laughs too. “I wonder what other children's games survived down here, or up there.”

And that is the story of how, an hour later, Monroe found you teaching the Commander of the Twelve Clans clapping games.

.

70\. Behind (Clarke)

“You're doing what?!”

“I told you,” Bellamy mutters in your ear, watching your mother work herself up over their announcement.

“We're moving out of Camp Jaha, mom. There's a spot of land, perfect for our numbers. It doesn't have a claim on it from any Clan, not even the outlaw groups.” You tell her, skipping around how, until very shortly, it had been part of the land claimed by Trikru- but it wasn't a village, hadn't been being used, and it wasn't Grounder land anymore. It was _theirs_.

Your mother looks speechless, staring at you and shaking her head. “But- you're all just _kids_.”

Behind you, Miller hisses out an angry curse. His dad, on the other side of the table, looks at him, sad but understanding.

“Chancellor?” Captain Miller says, before anyone else can speak. “May I speak freely, ma'am?”

Your mother has the same look she would have when she was at their table, doing all the paperwork her job required, multiple tablets all spread out around her. When she got that look, it was a sign she really wanted to drop her head onto the table. When they were at home, just her and your dad and you, she usually would.

She won't now, not here in this Counsel room, not with the Guard and Kane and your peoples own leadership. Not with the Chancellor pin on her clothing. Here, all she does is tell Captain Miller to speak his mind.

“Ma'am-” he hesitates for a moment, looking at his son. “These kids- they aren't kids. Blake's in his mid-twenties, by now, both our kids are over eighteen- so are at least, what, seven others?”

Bellamy nods. “About that.”

“On the Ark, we'd be assigning them to new quarters, if they wanted. I know it's different, but...” Captain Miller finishes, trailing off.

Your mom purses her lips. “I see your point, Captain. But ten of them being over eighteen still leaves nearly forty who aren't. I can't allow underage children in my care to just- run away into the woods!”

“The youngest kid on the dropship was twelve. _Twelve_! And you sent her down here to die. Why the hell do you care now?” Bellamy spits.

“I always cared, Bellamy, there just wasn't another choice. There is with this.”

“Bullshit, no other choice! You didn't have to send down the whole hundred of us. You could have sent down just the older ones, or the ones with more severe crimes. You could have left the sick and disabled. Instead you sent little kids, people who got arrested for hiding in the wrong air ducts, or for _being born_ , and we lost people because their bodies couldn't take the weather. We've got people in _extra_ pain, because there was no choice down here, they had to work even when their bodies couldn't. And now you keep calling them _kids_ , like a single one of them didn't grow up, and grow up fast. There's not a single kid in what's left of the Hundred.” When Bellamy ends, he clenches his jaw, eyes the door like he's contemplating storming out. Miller moves behind him, touches his elbow.

When you look, your mother looks tired. Deeply, deeply tired. “Mom,” you say softly. “Most of them don't even have family here anyways.”

“There's no way to stop you, is there?” she asks, her lips curling in a sad smile. When you shake your head, she sighs. “I'm not happy about it. And I don't- you don't have my permission. Not that that'll stop you, I imagine.”

Her sad smile turns fond and inward, and you imagine she's remembering all the times you did something you weren't allowed to, all the times she caught you in the aftermath, sometimes with you hungover or sometimes by finding a tattoo on someone during a physical that had your style. On a few daring occasions, missing medicine that she couldn't trace back to you beyond knowing that someone you knew had been sick and was now getting better.

“No,” you say, matching her small smile. “It won't.”

You suspect that, in a couple months, everyone will realize that the former Hundred separating from the rest of the Arkers was for the best; they were the ones that had been given up on long ago, dismissed as worthless and floated in these people's minds before any of their 18th birthdays. When faced with the reality of all of them, after there was more than a handful in Camp Jaha, when the delinquents refused to just... join back into the system that had locked them away, people got twitchy. Suspicious. Prejudiced. And it was eating at both groups of people.

The day the Ark forcibly sent them down, the day they made them _leave_ , they- well, they left. They left the Ark, and its people, and trying to make them all fit back together was never going to work.

But they can make their own place. And they will.

.

71\. Sky (Octavia)

“It's... strange.” Lincoln says one night, his voice a low rumbling in his chest.

You're laid out on the ground, still warm from the sun, enjoying the cool of night. You half lie on Lincoln, drowsy and enjoying the way his chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, how his heart is a comforting _thump_ under your ear.

“Hmm?” you ask sleepily, sitting up a little. “What's strange?”

He smiles softly, moves his eyes away from the stars to look at you. After a moment, he explains, “For all my life, there has been a star, different from the others. Sometimes it would release more lights, send them flying across the sky. Sometimes, things would fall to the ground from that star.”

“The Ark,” you realize.

“We knew what it was, somehow. Knew it wasn't a star. I watched the light of it my whole life, wondered about the people who lived on it. Lived in the sky. It's strange to have it gone.” He shook his head. “Stranger still to think I've been inside parts of that star, fallen down to this world.”

“It's still pretty damn weird to think I'm lying on the ground right now,” you confess. “I only saw earth once, from up there, but that ball of green and blue? It didn't look real. Not like something you could live on.” Rolling further against him, you sigh contently. “I'm glad I got to prove myself wrong.”

Lincoln's hand comes to rest in your hair, his fingers twining between the braids and loose strands. “I'd give up the lights of all the stars if it meant we would meet.”

When you look up into the sky, it doesn't look like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 68\. can you tell this was written during the hottest summer on record?


	12. 72-76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first steps to making their new camp home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone needs me I'll be over here, aggressively in denial about actual canon

72\. Create (Clarke)

One of the best things about your new camp, you think, is that it’ll be the first Skaikru settlement not built on stolen land.

The dropship, Camp Jaha- both were built on landing sites, but crashing out of the sky and building a fence doesn’t make the area _yours_. Anya had called you invaders the first time you met, and she had been right. You came to a world that already had people, claimed it for yourselves, and were surprised when the Grounders took offence.

But this- you turn, taking it all in. There’s a stream on one end with fresh, clean water, deep enough in some places to allow fishing, and an area that’s perfect for bathing or just cooling off in the warm months, water shallow enough not to worry about giant snakes or the fact that, to your knowledge, none of the Skaikru have learned to swim yet. There’s a clearing where you’ll be building your camp, right at the top of a slight incline. It’s big enough to fit your people, big enough to house the village you hope it’ll become. It’s everything you could have hoped for.

And best of all, it’s truly _theirs_.

Lexa stands by your side while you gaze over the plot of land she’s given you. “Well?” she asks. “Will it do?”

The artist in you doesn't just look across the area and see it as a blank slate- the artist in you can see the tents that will be set up, the lean-tos and shacks and someday, real buildings that will stand here. These places will be homes, where your people will go to sleep in and wake up in and live in. Tables will hold food and drink and chairs will hold the people eating and drinking. Your people will bitch to you about the heat during the summer and the cold during the winter, and you'll all, still, be amazed every time the skies open and let down rain.

None of that is real, yet, but you can see it, and you know your people can see it too. You know they want to make it real just as much as you do.

You don't ever actually answer Lexa's question, but she seems to understand what the passionate kiss you sweep her into is meant to say.

.

73\. Ditch (Clarke)

“We are not digging a ditch around our camp, guys!” You tell them, looking to Bellamy for help. Instead, he seems to be actually _considering_ it.

Jasper shakes his head while Monty says, “no, no, not a _ditch_ , a- territory line! A visual territory line,”

“It'd make it harder for animals to get into our stuff,” Bellamy points out. “You know how much your mom likes to bring that up since we've decided to move beyond Camp Jaha's electrified fences.”

It's true, she does use that as one of her main arguments for why the remaining Hundred, an Arker- Mel- and even a Grounder or three (Lincoln, obviously, and Echo, and Lexa has been stopping by quite often; and you can only assume she'll come more once she doesn't have to deal with the fence- or your mother) shouldn't be moving out to make their own camp.

You rub your temples. “Why don't we just build a wall like we did around the dropship? That worked pretty well!”

“But- it could be a _moat_ ,” Monty insists.

“Oh my god,” you say, because your people want to have a _moat_ surrounding their new home. Who the hell even knew what would start to live in that moat?

When you point that out, you can see you've won.

Bellamy clears his throat, obviously hiding a laugh. “Okay. A wall it is.”

.

74\. Sign (Miller)

“Camp Jaha has a sign,” Monroe argues.

“Camp Jaha has a name to put on that sign,” you point out, wondering how you got into this position. Being Bellamy's first lieutenant had been a natural position to fill when they realized being on the ground wasn't all fun and games. You had known the guy when he was training to be in the Guard, and you like to think you would've kept up with him after Octavia was discovered and his world fell apart, but you had been sent to the Sky-Box only a week before.

War was one thing. Peace time was another, however, and apparently it included Monroe and the others campaigning him for a sign for their new camp. Which did, in fact, _not_ have a name to put on it.

“Well, then we should have a name,” Bree decided.

You sigh, resisting the urge to cover your face with a hand. “Like what?”

“Camp Griffin!” Someone called out. They were attracting more people, including Clarke herself, who made a face at that suggestion.

“No way,” she decided, “We're not naming the camp after me. _Or_ Bellamy,” she cut in before anyone could suggest it.

“Camp Jaha is named after one of their leaders,” one of the younger boys, Jeff, argued.

“They thought Jaha was going to be trapped up on the Ark until he died. It's not the same.” you point out, Clarke nodding.

Monroe huffed. “So we name it after a dead person, then?”

“Which one?” Jasper asked. “Not to be a downer, but we've got a few. I mean, we could name it after Finn, but...”

Lincoln shook his head. “The Trikru would take that as great offence.”

“Not to mention, naming your home after a war criminal is probably bad luck.” Bellamy added, shooting an apologetic look to Raven.

Raven shook her head. “So we don't name it after a person, then.”

“What then? Camp Delinquent?” Bellamy asked sarcastically, crossing his arms.

“Camp Whatever-The-Hell-We-Want,” Monty joked.

“Camp We're-Back-Bitches,” Jasper laughed, looking at Octavia. She rolled her eyes.

“What if we name it after the area this used to be?” Clarke offered. “This was Virginia, an American state.”

You consider that. “So, what, Camp Virginia? New Virginia?”

“I thought we were trying to be our own thing. Y'know, a second chance.”

Lincoln hummed thoughtfully. “There is a word my people have for that. _Sekansi_. When someone is granted another chance after they fail or nearly loose something important.” He looked around. “From what I understand, each of you are living your sekansi now.”

Clarke spoke. “All in favour of Camp Sekansi?”

It was unanimous.

.

75\. Crown (Clarke)

The fire is burning high, casting more than enough light when combined with the torches spread around the main area of camp- some people have taken to calling it the 'village square', but you think you'll need a real building or two before you can consider your camp a village. At the moment, it's all tents and a few lean-to's.

For tonight, though, no one is worrying about the winter, which is still months away, or the threats this world holds. Your people are dancing, and drinking, and laughing, and you are happy to see them so happy.

One of the girls, Dess- one of the youngest of them, only 14, convicted for stealing food rations; since landing on the ground, she's looked less gaunt, healthier, and isn't that a sad thought?- approaches you, smiling shyly, her hands behind her back. Then, suddenly, she reaches out, quick as a whip, and places something on your head.

Several people around you grin, some chuckling. Dess keeps smiling at you, then explains, “It's a crown,” she says, and when you reach up, you can feel the circle of woven vines and branches, a few soft petals marking the presence of flowers. “A crown for the Princess.”

Then she skips back into the dancing crowd, and Bellamy sits down next to you, grinning.

“Your highness,” he says, mock-bowing.

You hit him in the shoulder, but you keep the crown on for the rest of the night.

.

76\. Lookout (Monroe)

Climbing trees comes as easy to you as climbing vents and ducts and hidden places in the Ark. Easier, even- you're not hiding, now, and trees aren't cold, endless pieces of flat dusty metal. Trees are rough, and they might not be warm exactly but they're alive and sometimes they hang on to the heat from the sun. There's hand and footholds the whole way up and a place to sit or hang or balance once you get there, the smell of green and bark and sap all around.

Guard duty at the dropship was walking the perimeter, standing or sitting around, in some places at the top of the wall they built. At Camp Jaha, they weren't allowed to be in the official watch- so they stationed themselves at halfway points between the Guard towers.

You might not have _liked_ the Guard, but you did learn that the high vantage point is helpful for spotting.

So you climb trees, and learn which ones are the most sturdy, which branches work as handholds and where's most comfortable to sit for extended amounts of time.

It's possible you also give one or two people minor heart-attacks when you suddenly drop out of a tree right beside them, but that's just a bit of entertainment.


	13. 77-81

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings:  
> -passing mention of hanging  
> -talk of nightmares  
> -runaway children (the kid is fine, and returned to his non-abusive parents safely)  
> -mentions of child neglect by parents  
> -mentions of child neglect by the system

77\. Stories (delinquents)

The first of the outbuildings have barely been built when the first traders show up, their cart full of the kind of goods a new settlement needs; seeds, tools, weapons, building supplies. These people don't care that you're Skaikru, beyond that few of them speak English, or that you're all, in the end, just a bunch of kids grown up too fast trying to live in a world you were dumped into with no warning.

They have things other than necessities, as well; clothes and jewelry, beads and mother of pearl and dried fruits they say, translated through Lincoln, that came from farther south than you could ever hope to see. They tell stories of warm beaches and mighty stone temples that survived centuries and then the war, of people whose language never changed the way the Coalition did, of jungles and deserts and flatlands.

They trade their goods and tell their tales, stay the night around your campfire, and in the new dawn they leave, their carts lighter and tongues heavy with the new stories they'll share with future villages, stories of people who lived and loved and fell from the stars.

.

78\. Comfort (Bellamy)

Clarke walks into your tent before breakfast, her face intent. “I think we need to make laws, and punishments for breaking them,” she announces as a greeting, then, noticing Echo in bed with you, adds, “hey, Echo.”

“Heya, Clarke,” Echo greets the blonde, climbing out of bed and laughing at the disappointed noise you make as she leaves to go join Bree for breakfast.

“So, what do you think?” Clarke asks.

You groan. “I think tents need doors. Or doorbells. Something to knock on before barging in.”

“I mean about the laws, Bellamy,” she sighs, checking that the other bed is empty before dropping into it- Monty tends to burrow under the blankets, and has been sat on because of it too many times to count. “When we banished Murphy, we didn’t have any other choice, or at least, we had nothing planned. Murphy's hanging happened for the same reason, really- we didn't have any kind of rules in place.” Clarke rubs her hand over her eyes. “I don't want anything like that to happen again.”

“Clarke, when was the last time you slept?” you ask gently. “ I agree with you, by the way. If we're really serious about becoming our own place, a separate place from Camp Jaha, then we need laws. I'm guessing our rules'll be pretty similar, but we'll be enforcing them. It'd be an easier conversation to have well-rested, though. And it's probably too important to do when you're this tired, anyways.”

“I hate it when you're right,” she agrees.

You laugh softly. “I know, Princess. But listen to me anyways. Get some rest, Clarke.”

She's quiet for a long time, staring at the tent wall. “Nightmares came back again,” Clarke confides. “And with Lexa back in Polis…”

“Empty beds don't help, I’m guessing?”

“The nightmares, this time 'round? It’s… I’m back, after Mount Weather, after I left you guys. When I was just… alone, in the woods, for so long. I needed to leave, and I don't regret that I did, but I really don't want to be alone. Not anymore.”

You gesture for Clarke to come over to you, and you wrap her in a hug. “Good thing I could use a nap too, huh?” you ask, tugging your blanket over the both of you.

“Bellamy…” she begins, trailing off.

“Come on, Clarke, I’ve got two beautiful girls to sleep in this bed with me, lets make it three.” Clarke laughs, settling down next to you.

Clarke is your best friend, your hero, and your leader; when she was gone and your people looked to you solely you led them because you knew one day Clarke would return and you were determined your people would be waiting for her.

You never really had friends, growing up- it was too dangerous with Octavia, to invite people into your lives. You only had your mother and your sister; your family. And maybe that's why friendship is still difficult for you- you have your people, and you have your family. Your family is just a bit bigger than the one you had on the Ark.

Clarke has drifted off into sleep, her breath deep and slow, her forehead scrunched up in distress. You slip your hand into hers, squeezing gently until her face relaxes. She is not alone.

.

79\. Sickness (Clarke)

Flu season, on the Ark, was treated more like plague season. It was, in a way- in such tight quarters, everyone breathing the same recycled air, everyone's immune systems shot from lack of nutrition and the ever present shortage of antibiotics, every flu that was passed around the stations had the possibility to kill.

The first time your mother brought you in to help treat the sick, you were thirteen. You had taken temperatures, handed out rations, and watched your mother as she worked. Every sickness after that had you doing more and more, until you didn't even need a doctor advising you. 

The first illness to sweep through their camp on the ground- the first one that isn't biological warfare, anyways- has you silently thanking those hours spent in the medical station. If you'd had to call in anyone from Camp Jaha for help, it would be admitting they should have stayed there, that they were just a bunch of kids who needed looking after.

Instead, you recruit Lincoln for his knowledge of Grounder healing; Tilly, who had been on the path to becoming a nurse before the Sky-Box; and Lennox, for his basic first aid knowledge and his ability to happily run all over camp fetching you things and checking on people.

All told, it's not that bad an illness. A quarter of your people get sick, but most are better by the end of the week, only Hadya's lungs and Allon's exhaustion refusing to heal up. It is, however, how you find out your people are big babies.

“I don't want to,” Jasper insists, pouting in a frankly ridiculous manner. He's glaring at the cup in your hands holding the tea Lincoln had mixed up to bring down fevers and help some of the pain. The tea tastes sort of like tree bark, if you're being nice, and like mud if you're being honest. Someone has apparently been honest to Jasper.

“Come on, Jasper, it can't be worse than that seaweed stuff you drank before,” Octavia reasons.

Jasper makes a face. “I was delirious when I drank that, it doesn't count.”

“And you don't want to be delirious again, do you? Drink.” You press the cup into his hands and ignore Lincoln's small smile when he nearly spits out his first sip.

You go through the same thing with everyone else, the healthy Sekansi watching from the other side of camp, amused.

When you inevitably catch the flu as well, you chug Lincoln's tea like the responsible doctor's daughter that you are. You can't help your grimace, though, and Jasper laughs at you.

.

80\. Painting (Clarke)

You probably should have guessed it by the skill evident in Lincoln's sketches, but you were still surprised, somehow, by the knowledge that art was a skill taught and valued by the Trikru.

“Much of our lives are spent in violence and struggle to survive. We like to bring the beauty into that as much as we can,” Lexa explains to you when she gifts to you the paints mixed from berries and fruits, plant leaves and petals, different types of soils and clays. With them are brushes of different sizes and textures, all with the bristles firmly bound into the elegant wooden handles.

It's all beautiful, an art piece all by itself, and you kiss Lexa long and tender in thanks before trying them out.

You always loved working with paint- colour of any kind, really, but paints most of all. They hadn't let you have anything except pencils in solitary, but it doesn't take long for you to get the hang of it again.

You paint what you used to paint back then: the ground. Tall trees reaching up to the sky; mountains; animals; the sun and moon as seen from earth. Back then, though, you had only had the images in books to go by, photographs taken by people long dead of an earth that no longer existed. Now, you had the things you had seen with your own eyes to paint.

So you paint the trees that had grown around the dropship and the river where you had swam for the first time with Finn. You paint sunsets and sunrises, fields and flowers and individual leaves. You even paint animals, although they are not the same ones you painted and drew on the Ark; two-headed deer and giant water snakes, glowing butterflies and giant beetles, mutated horses and scaled panthers. And, of course, the unforgettable Pauna.

Lexa comes up from behind you while you are just finishing the gorilla painting. “That is very good.”

Placing down your brush, you frown. “I can't capture how intimidating it is. This just looks like King Kong.”

Lexa laughs softly. “I do not think it's possible to fully tell the fearsomeness that is the Pauna.”

You snort. “Fair enough,” you say, letting your head fall backwards to lean against Lexa's chest.

“What else have you been working on?”

So you show her, one after the other. She examines the dropship painting closely, and you realize she had never seen your old home before it had been burned to ash. “This is from memory?” she asks.

“More or less. I studied the sketches in Lincoln's journal once or twice, but- mostly from memory.”

Lexa looked up at her. “You are amazing, Clarke.”

You blush and duck your head, but Lexa only tilts it up to kiss you. Your hands move to her waist, to her hair. You have paint on your hands, and you are sure you are staining Lexa, but you can't seem to care as she has your bottom lip between her teeth. You are marking her as your own, you think. You are painting her.

.

81\. Runaway (Raven)

You get your first runaway at the peak of summer, a kid from Camp Jaha who had a fight with his parents and thought, _hey, there’s a camp not too far from here with no adults, I should totally run unarmed through the forest when I only barely know the way and couldn’t fight off a bunny if it attacked, never mind bandits or any one of the dozens of other mutated, dangerous, man-eating animals that roam these woods, that sounds like it couldn’t possibly go wrong!_

Amazingly, it doesn’t go wrong, besides them now having a clearly Ark-born nine year old who has decided he's living in Jasper and Tesla’s tent. He’s taken Tesla’s bed, too, leaving the older boy to stare pleadingly at you while Monty tried not to laugh too hard at Jasper’s face.

“Kid,” you begin, trying to bend down to his height the best you could with your leg brace.

“I'm not a kid,” he replies, stubborn as hell. “My name's Rey.”

You exhale, then try again, “Rey,” you ask him “there someone back at Camp Jaha missing you?” because you know how often, how easy kids are overlooked, know that if it was you in his place and your mother was back at camp, she wouldn’t of cared, and neither would anyone else. One less trouble making kid, one less mouth to feed. If he doesn’t have any living parents, if they didn’t make it down here with him- orphans, as you found out yourself, first with your mother and then with Finn's, are even less noticed.

Luckily, he only answers with a huff and “my mom and dad, probably,” then, “but they’re mean! All grown-ups are. So I’m living here now, where there aren’t any.”

Bellamy steps in then, Clarke handing him some water and a bag of nuts and berries for the kid. 

“Your parents are probably worried about you, Rey. Don’t you think they’d want to know where you are?” Bellamy asks while the kid chugs the water. He looks meaningfully to you, gesturing toward where they keep the radios and comms. You nod your understanding, moving over to it. Clarke and Miller follow you, leave the kid to Bellamy, who’s definitively the one to handle this. The one-child law on the Ark means most of you have no clue how to handle young kids.

When you call, Camp Jaha is in a state of emergency, the parents frantic, Abby putting together search parties.

Abby’s the one to answer your, “Camp Sekansi to Camp Jaha, repeat, Sekansi to Jaha, please reply, over,” with, “Raven, thank god, we were just about to call you kids, we have a missing child over here, could you organize some search parties…”

“Abby, Abby, we’ve got a nine year old boy from Camp Jaha over here, says his name's Rey, I’m guessing its your missing kid.”

There’s a pause, where there’s only the crackle of static, then, “Oh thank god,” quick enough that the words slur into each other, “blond hair, brown eyes, wearing a red shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s our boy. He’s alright, by the way, we gave him food and water, he’s not hurt. Well, a scuffed knee or two, maybe.” 

“Thank god,” Abby repeats, sounding more tired than she had last they spoke. “Why did he think leaving camp to walk alone through the woods was a good idea?”

“He's pissed at his parents about something, I don't know. Kids do this. Didn't Clarke ever threaten to run away?”

There's a huff of breath over the line, something that you think was a laugh. “She did more than threaten, she followed through. But that was on the Ark. Down here...”

“Yeah. I know.” There's silence for a long moment before you volunteer, “how about we feed him up, get him a good night's sleep, and we'll bring him over first thing tomorrow?”

Clarke moves forward, then, to speak to her mother. “If Rey's parents want to talk to me, they're welcome to. And we can ask Rey if he wants to talk to them, but right now he's still angry, for whatever reason.”

“I'll let them know. Thank you, Clarke.”

The blonde hesitates for a moment, then says, “I'll bring Rey back to Camp Jaha. Maybe I'll stay the night, or something? We could... catch up.” The words are stilted, awkward, but genuine.

“I'd like that,” Abby tells her daughter. “It's been too long. And... I should go tell Rey's parents he's okay.”

Farewells are said, and then it's just them.

“Looks like we have a guest for the night.” Clarke says.

Miller quirks a smile, adds, “more like we're babysitting for the night.”

“Well, he's got a place to sleep. We just gotta figure out who's bunking with Tesla,” you add with humour.

In the end, the kid falls asleep while they're eating dinner around the fire, the food in his stomach and heat of the fire finally triggering the exhaustion of his trek. They bundle him up and Monroe offers her bed for the kid.

“I've got first watch tonight so I won't even be using mine for a while. And anyways, our beds are just sleeping bags on the ground, I can sleep on the plain old ground just fine.” She explains.

So Rey is carried to Monroe's tent and tucked in, and in the morning, he seems to have gotten over whatever he was angry about, and is eager to go home.

You don't go on the walk to bring him back, because- leg. But when the others who did go come back, they look happy. You think its nice to have a happy ending, for once.

A month and a half later, another kid shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 77\. fun fact- I volunteer at a museum, and our aboriginal exhibit has a bunch of stuff they excavated from a thousand years ago a couple miles north of where I live (Canada) that's from Mexico; they figure the people who lived in that area at the time traded with one tribe north of them, who traveled with another tribe north of them, who traveled with another tribe north of them, ect, until until one tribe that only had horses had passed goods to another tribe that only had horses across further than the entire length of what would become America. Pretty cool, huh?
> 
> 79\. Allon is chronically ill; she has fribromyalgia, which causes chronic exhaustion. Being sick on top of that makes it even worse.


	14. 82-85

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first summer of Camp Sekansi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings  
> -mention of abusive medical practices  
> -talk of physical disabilties  
> -mention of a transgirl being made to live in her male body; no description of dysmorphia or anything, but it's slightly implied  
> -talk of juvenile incarceration  
> -talk of injuries and dying young

82\. Swim (Harper)

At the widest part of the river, they build a bridge.

It's barely a bridge, really; just a wise plank placed across the water, balanced on either bank so they can cross one at a time. Some of the Sekansi take to sitting on it, feet dangling into the water, shoes stripped off and left on the riverbanks. It's brave, really- only a handful of them have learned to swim, although more and more have been willing to venture into deeper water.

Not that 'deeper water' is really all _that_ deep- the river, the part that's on their land, is only over six feet in one spot, and that's for fishing, not swimming. Any other water deep enough to swim in is unknown and could be home to monsters; no one is in a hurry to repeat Octavia's experience their first day here with the river snake they eventually found out the Grounders called a _lompai_. But in the safety of their river, one by one they learn to swim.

To no one's surprise, it's Octavia who learns first. She seems to take great delight in the water, often floating on her back with her eyes closed against the sun or paddling up and down the lazy current. Often, Lincoln joins her, watching her smile, sometimes flicking water at her and surprising a laugh out.

It's Raven who convinces you and Allon to learn- she had started when Dr. Griffin had suggested it might help with her leg.

“It's good,” the mechanic told them. “I can't feel the leg itself, but the limping all the time, it cramps up my muscles. Swimming stretches them all out, and it's easier to work around my bum leg while I'm doing it than on land. It feels... lighter. Supported, in the water. Sometimes I forget,” she confided in them.

Raven didn't talk about her leg, not to anyone except maybe Dr. Griffin. It wasn't shame or embarrassment that did it; it was fear of pity. But Allon and you got it in a way most of the others didn't. Allon had had fibromyalgia as long as she could remember, lived her life in so much pain the reason she got arrested was for trying to steal pain meds from medical. Since they had been at peace, she hadn't been needing to push herself past so many of her limits, the way they all had when they first landed, building and fighting and using muscles and joints beyond when they should have stopped; she had to stop shaving her facial hair twice a day, so she seemed to have a permanent five-o'clock-shadow. (“That's one thing the Ark did right,” she had said once. “They don't have the resources to waste on treatment for anything 'non-life-threatening'” she rolled her eyes while you made a noise of disgust. “But they always supplied me with razors to keep me from being a bearded woman”) With the end of war and fear, though, Allon was given less physically demanding jobs. It didn't make the pain disappear- nothing ever would- but it helped.

As for yourself... the marrow extraction drill points had healed months ago, the scars fading closer to silver as time went on. But what was under the skin, under the scar tissue- those still ached, more often and painful than the other healed broken bones you've acquired. Dr. Griffin remains hopeful that your body just needs more time to repair the damage Tsing did with her drill, but until then you _ache_.

So both of you understood, and neither of you pitied Raven. And when Allon has to bail out fifteen minutes in because chronic exhaustion is a bitch, Raven doesn't pity her, either.

.

83\. Teach (Clarke)

Their biggest problem, when it comes right down to it, is in the form of the kids who got locked up early and are now in their late teens. The ones who spent multiple years in the Sky-Box, where there was little interaction outside of cellmates and even less opportunity to learn; school courses _or_ life skills.

Most of the kids who’d been locked up for longer than four years are gone, now, lost in battle or illness or accident. But not all of them.

It wasn’t very obvious, those first weeks on the Ground, when _everyone_ was out to sea on what the hell they were doing, although, looking back, it’s there; the kids who clung to _whatever the hell we want_ with less emphasis on what _they_ wanted, the ones who raised the cheer but still didn’t know what to _do_ with it. The ones who, in the end, were the members of Bellamy’s militia that stayed when it turned into less of a gang and more of an army. The ones who had had their lives controlled and ordered around by the Guard for so long that they weren’t sure how else to live.

If you’re being truthful, you’re glad those who needed it had Bellamy as an option to follow- because all there was otherwise was the Guard itself, and no one, not a single one of them, needed to be bossed around by the people whose job it had been to keep them locked up and prevent a revolt long enough for them to turn 18, and then escort them down the halls of the Ark to their death.

(only two people ever got anything but floated after their review; the first was the then Chancellor’s kid, the other already on her deathbed, too sick to stand long enough to get to the airlock. They all knew it, and they all knew no pardon was coming their way. Not until they had been strapped into the dropship and Jaha’s face had popped up on the screens, telling them they were going to the ground)

So they start classes, borrowing from Trikru teachers sometimes, mostly using the Ark class programs.

They set up a ring of tree-stumps to sit on, whoever's teaching that day standing in the middle. They manage to trade some Grounders for enough paper and pencils to write work.

There's no set class schedule, yet. It's mostly just a coincidence of time- when someone who can fill in as a teacher is free, when those who consider themselves students are free, when the weather and bandits and animal attacks permits it all.

It's haphazard in the way everything is, now, but it's also a _school_. Someday, when this a real village, it'll be a _real_ school, too.

.

84\. Over (Octavia)

It was just a skirmish, and barely that. Just some raiders thinking the young members of Camp Sekansi, in their youth, inexperience, and low numbers would be easy pickings. It was six overconfident Grounders exiled from their village with scrounged weapons against the group that beat an army of 300 warriors, took and held a floor of Mount Weather, and ended up walking out of that Mountain. They weren't even taken by surprise. It should have been simple.

It _was_ simple, actually. The raiders are dead and none of them are dead, barely any injuries, none serious. Except for Lincoln.

Lincoln is bleeding in the dirt, his eyes closed and face slack. The spear that hit him is next to him, the point dripping the same red seeping from his torso, somewhere under his clothing, and you can't see where and he's not waking up and you can't see how bad it is and oh god he can't be dead not again you can't lose him again-  


Clarke is beside you, then, and Bellamy is pulling you away. You know, somewhere in your mind that he's pulling you away so Clarke has room, but the rest of you is _screaming_.

“Let me go! Let me go!” Raven's next to you, then, and Monty, trying to hold you back and calm you down, but Clarke is instructing Miller and Del to carry Lincoln away.

“Hey, Octavia, Clarke is gonna fix him up, okay? Lincoln's gonna be fine, but she can't do that without space, give her _space_.” Raven tells you as they carry him away, and you sag in your brothers arms.

It's hours before you hear anything, it feels like, hours of Tilly running in and out of Clarke's tent. But eventually, Clarke comes out and finds you.

“He's okay. He's going to be okay,” is the first thing she says, and some tenseness you didn't realize was running through your entire body relaxes. “The spear hit him, broke a rib. But it didn't puncture anything important, didn't go that deep. The rib could have done a lot more damage, but- we're lucky. It wasn't even poisoned. We're really lucky.” She sighs, goes to run a hand through her hair, seems to realize there's blood on them, stops. “He hit his head going down. I think he has a concussion. He's been in and out, fuzzy, but I think he'll be coming around pretty soon.” She smiles. “I think he'd appreciate seeing you there when he does.”

You pull yourself up, Bellamy's hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. “Thanks,” you tell Clarke as you walk toward Lincoln, and she nods, smiles again.

In the tent, Lincoln is blinking awake and wincing as Tilly sits next to him. She stands when she sees you, and smiles, too, before exiting to stand right outside. You sink into her seat.

The first think Lincoln says, before he even sees you, is “Octavia?”

“I'm here,” you tell him, grabbing his hand.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, actually, that would be _you_. Damn it, Lincoln, I thought I lost you. I can't- I can't lose you again. I've lost you so many times...”

He turns his hand in your grip to squeeze it. “I'm right here. I'm still here.”

He doesn't say _you'll never lose me_ , or promise not to get hurt or killed. That would be a lie he knows neither of you would believe. Someday, he will die. Someday you will too. Probably sooner rather than later, if you're honest. The ground isn't a place for high life expectancy, and warrior isn't a danger free title to bare. There's a reason the Commanders are always so young.

But today, this fight, isn't the last. Their fight is _not_ over.

.

85\. Leaping (Bellamy)

It's the height of summer, and your people are taking advantage of the way the riverbanks at the edge of camp shift from an easily stepped over stream to an eight-foot wide river to challenge each others distance jumping.

You're watching with Clarke as they move their way back and forth up the river, taking longer and longer jumps until they fall in with a splash.

“It is never more apparent that I'm the oldest person here,” you mutter to Clarke.

She snorts. “Yeah, you're the picture of maturity. Come on, I bet I can beat you.”

“I have longer legs, Princess, no way,” you protest as you follow her. A cheer goes up when Clarke makes the first jump- nearly a foot wide- and another when you finally fall in.

Clarke makes a triumphant face from the other side as you float in the cool water. “Yeah, yeah. Don't get a big head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 82\. lompai: from the word lamprey, as in a lamprey eel. My headcanon for the river snake is that it's a giant, mutated lamprey; the injury to Octavia's leg even looks like a lamprey bite
> 
> swimming therapy is, in fact, recommended to help with fibromyalgia pain. I don't know that it would do anything to help Harper's injuries, but it's still relaxing and fun as well as a good way to work out without putting too much strain on your bones.


	15. 86-90

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp Sekansi begins to settle in, the seasons change and change again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings:
> 
> -drinking, drunkenness (not underage- or, well, they're both over 18. It's legal in Canada.)  
> -actual underage drinking

86\. Scrap (Bellamy)

As the summer starts turning to fall, you realize that all too soon snow will be falling, and while the tents the Sekansi have been living in could manage the cold- they were insulated, and most had body heat from three or four people sharing one tent, as well as the solar powered heating Raven, Monty, and Wick had been working on all summer- the actual snowfall would crush the tents inwards.

Clarke and Raven have a hushed discussion, murmuring and going to Clarke’s tent.

Clarke is actually the only one who has a tent all to themselves- the only other one to have less than three occupants is Octavia and Lincoln, partially because most of the others are wary of Lincoln, really only knowing him as that guy who stabbed Finn, and as that guy they tortured and kept captive that one time. Monroe was one of the few who knew him as _Lincoln_ , but she didn’t stay with them because of the other reason, and that was because she ‘didn’t want to have to wear earplugs every night and wash her eyes every time she walked in’, but Octavia is your baby sister so you mostly pretend Monroe just really wanted to be roommates with Harper and Hadya.

Not long after Clarke and Raven went in, Clarke comes back out, scanning around, grabbing someone who isn’t busy and asking them to do something, before heading over to you.

“Bellamy,” she greets you, “Raven and I think we might have a solution to the snow problem,” she smiles hopefully. “We’re waiting on Lincoln and Miller to discuss if its doable, but- the dropship is just _sitting there_.”

Mentioning the dropship seems to come from out of nowhere, but it must be related. You give her a questioning look.

She huffs. “If we can deconstruct it, turn it to sheet metal…”

Your eyes widen in realization. “We can put the sheets overtop the tents,”

“And depending, I mean, this will still be temporary, hopefully we’ll build actual _homes_ soon, but the dropship is big. Big enough to make more than just temporary roofs, we could build sheds, to store supplies, a slightly more waterproof way.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Do we have things to solder the metal?”

“Raven doesn't, but Wick does, back at Camp Jaha- he'd be happy to let us use anything we need. We'd need to borrow a generator for that, probably, but I could talk to my mom...”

“So it's just Lincoln and Miller we need to run this idea past?”

Clarke nods. “Basically, if it's realistic, in manpower, time, transport, and safety, to get the dropship apart and drag all that metal over here.”

They're not too far from the dropship, about the same distance to Camp Jaha, really. But carrying the sheet metal would be hard, tedious work, and the forests were as safe as they ever were- no Grounders out to spear them, but animals were a different story.

Lincoln agrees with that, it turns out- but he offers an alternative. “If we had a cart,” he tells them, “There's a path we could take- not too much longer than your straight walk through the trees. It would be possible.”

You cross you arms, stare out at the tents your people live in. “Only problem being, we don't have a cart.”

“You can trade for one, possibly, although it would be expensive. Or one could be lent to us.” He suggests.

“Who's gonna lend us a cart, if they're so valuable?” Raven asks, but Lincoln and Octavia are looking at Clarke. “Ooh,” she says, wry, somewhere between bitter and amused. “Maybe the Commander has a spare cart she wouldn't mind lending her Princess.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I can ask Lexa. But I'm offering something in return, even if we're only borrowing it.”

“I bet you'll offer something,” Raven commented.

You're never sure how Clarke actually goes about getting the cart, but get it she does because she's nothing if not a capable leader who would always supply her people with what they needed. It was a long stretch of exhausting, sweaty days deconstructing the dropship, sleeping in the area that had once been their home and now only barely resembled anything but death, the days filled with the smell of hot metal and blowtorch, the nights with the scent of charred wood and bone. The trips- multiple trips, back and forth a trail that was overgrown and suggested attack from every angle- carting the resulting metal were just as tiring. Everyone's excitement at having a new building material was worth it, though, and when the first snow rolls around, you appreciate it even more.

.

87\. Memory (Clarke)

Raven is drunk. Or maybe not drunk- you're not entirely convinced she could get drunk, because she regularly drinks people three times her size under tables- but definitely drunker than you. You're jealous. You're fixing it immediately.

You take another swallow, as big as you can bare.

It's been a year since Finn turned himself over the the Grounders. A year since Raven slipped a knife into your hand and told you to kill Lexa, and instead put the blade in Finn. 

You take another swallow.

“He saved my life, you know.” Raven says, like she'd been talking already. Maybe she had been. Your head is- loud. Louder than it should be, when everything is quiet.

“I know,” you assure her, even though you don't, really. For all your mother's faults, she had made sure you had as much food and water as anyone on the Ark, growing up. You'd never had to split rations with a kindly neighbor boy, just to avoid starvation. You know the ache of hunger in your stomach as well as anyone who lived on the Ark, but Raven knows it better, more than most.

She surprises you when she shakes her head, says, “No. Not just when we were kids,” she's barely slurring at all, but her bad leg is splayed out in a way it never is, sober. Not where people can see. “The- spacewalk. Wasn't him.” She takes a long swig of her own drink while you consider that.

“What do you mean?”

Raven looks away, off into the sky, where the stars are blocked out by the clouds so it's all endless black. “I got denied Zero G at first. Heart... thing.” She waves that off. “He wanted me to be out there, at least once. But then the Guard was coming, and I was 18...”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “They would have floated you.”

“Yeah.” Another swallow.

“And we all would have died.”

Raven pauses, giving you a strange look.

“If you had died, no one would have been able to get down here, to see that we were alive. No one would have been able to let the Ark know we were alive. They would have died up there, and when the Grounders first came for us, we wouldn't have been able to blow up the bridge, and we would have died.” You explain.

She blinks at you a moment. “Yeah. I guess so.”

After a moment, you continue, softly, “And it would have been a lot harder, down here, without Finn.”

One more swallow, and Raven sets down her drink, moving to sit next to you. Her hand finds yours, and you clutch each other tightly. 

“I know the feeling,” she tells you, and then neither of you say anything at all for a long time.

.

88\. Sticks (Clarke)

You wake up the morning of January 1st- their second New Year on the ground, the first New Year of Camp Sekansi- with a slight hangover and the sound of laughter echoing through camp.

The tent is warm enough that you don’t have to psych yourself up to get out from under your blankets, though the inside of your jacket is cold from the morning air against your skin when you slip it on. You plan to visit the latrine, then get some water and see about food. Its doubtful anyone made breakfast for the entire camp this morning; you saw this week's kitchen head walk into a tree last night. They’re probably nursing a hangover bad enough you’ll get called in for a medical opinion at some point today. Tilly’s been collecting willow all week for headaches, and you suspect it’ll be used up by this evening.

When you step outside, already thinking of what you have to do, you stop short, blinking at the unexpected brightness, the sun reflecting off the white snow that’s covering everything.

Raven, already up and about, sees you stop short and grins. “Morning, Clarke.”

“It snowed,” you say

“Yeah, blew in just after you finally passed out. Not as bad as last winter's first snow, but it's enough that they're building- well, you should go see.”

You blink. “See what?” and then you hear the laughter coming from the other side of camp, by the eating area. When you look to Raven questioningly, she only smiles and gestures for you to follow her.

When you get to the sound of laughter, you stop short, your own laugh bursting out of you; six or seven of the youngest Sekansi (not coincidentally, you're sure, the ones who were drinking less last night) are building what look to be a snowfort, Echo showing them how to best get the snow to stack, the occasional snowball flying through the air. Nearby, a rather lopsided snowman is standing guard, armless.

Yucca spots you and stands, brushing snow off his knees. “Clarke!”

Echo looks up at the sound of your name. “How's your head?” she asks, as if she hadn't drank twice as much as you did and, really, should still be in bed with Bellamy and Bree, hiding from the bright sunlight.

You grimace at her in answer before looking pointedly at snowman and fort. “Teaching them things?”

She shrugs. “Last winter, at Camp Jaha, we weren't allowed outside much, when the snow was new and clean. There's warm tea over the fire, and some bread left if you're hungry. Grab some kindling sticks while you're over there; the snowman needs arms.”

.

89\. Advice (Octavia)

“Octavia? Can I talk to you?”

Monroe is standing in your doorway when you turn- open to let in the early spring air in hopes of airing out the stale smell that'd been gathering in the small space all winter- hesitating like she’s halfway considering fleeing instead of entering further.

You shrug and gesture her in. “Yeah, of course. What’s going on?”

She sighs, looking at her hands in front of her. “I wanted some advice. There’s- a guy.”

“You’re asking me about dating advice?” You feel sort of honored. Monroe is only a few months younger than you, but strong, stubborn, intelligent, and one of small number of Skaikru that took to the ground naturally. You respect her, but beyond that, you’re sure you aren’t the obvious first choice for questions about boys. Until you were caught, you had met a grand total of one- and he was your brother.

Monroe is nodding though, earnest and enthusiastic, so you smile and pull up a chair for her to sit on.

“So,” you begin, a note of playful teasing in your voice. “Who’s this _guy_?”

Monroe blushes, but smiles back. “His name is Emmer. He’s smart, and funny, and he’s been giving me tips on sparring and hunting, too.” The red flush on her cheeks gets brighter and bigger the more she speaks, and her entire face is bright red by the end.

Searching your memory, you come up with the man Monroe must mean- not much older than them, Emmer is friendly and kind, not half bad at fighting though he had lost a leg from the knee down a few years previous. His skill with a bow was impressive, though, and he had never thought he would be gonakru- he was to care for TonDC’s herd of goats, like his mother before him.

“I don't know him that well,” you begin, “but if he's helping you, teaching you things, I mean, he can't hate you.”

She didn't look reassured by that, frowning at you doubtfully. “But, I mean… I’m Skaikru. They sort of hate us, don’t they?”

You lean forward, looking at her intently. “Monroe,” you tell her seriously, “you’re not just Skaikru. You’re Sekansigeda before that.”

She doesn’t look reassured by that, although she’s sitting up straighter now. “Isn’t that worse, though? We burned 300 Grounders alive.”

You consider her for a moment before leaning forward. “Can I tell you something?” You ask, waiting for Monroe’s nod before continuing. “I'm not gonna say they liked that. The Grounders... within a village, or an army, they all know each other. They've known each other for years, if not their whole lives. If you're not related, it still feels like a kind of family. And we killed a lot of their people. But- they would of done the same, in our place. They would of fought for their land, their people, their lives- they did, that's why they attacked us in the first place. If we had just let ourselves be slaughtered they'd hate us a hell of a lot more. That would be weakness, and there's no room for that down here. You are a warrior, Monroe. If Emmer doesn't see that, doesn't respect that, he's not worth it.”

When Monroe takes to spending her days off rotation in TonDC, you don't wonder what she's doing there.

.

90\. Shack (Bellamy)

Camp Sekansi is built snugly up against a cliff face on one side, a solid wall of moss-covered rock that makes it feel safer, more protected than it actually is. But after so long of constant vigilance, of living with the gut churning feeling of knowing you aren’t safe, there’s something to be said for this second chance of theirs to give them a sense of security, no matter if it’s false.

The cliff is high, high enough that they don’t dare scaling it. It’s a three hour hike to the top, going around to the side of it and then up.

Echo suggests they build a shack up there; it’s not technically part of their land, but it’s no one else’s, either. She says they should keep a cache of food and weapons there, just in case. It’s a haphazard looking building that they end up building, dug as far into the ground as it is built up, half in a hill with a thatched roof over-top they mostly hope can keep it dry. They put salted meat and dried fruits, root vegetables and weapons- blades and blunt weapons, no guns or bullets, no sense leaving them up here where they’re hard to get at and might be damaged by water anyways- in leather bags in an attempt to keep the water off and insects out, then dig a small, shallow pit and cover it with a piece of scrap metal too small for much else.

From the time they start building to the week or so after it’s finished, nearly everyone visits at some point or another, to help build or too observe or bring the supplies they stash there. But a few of them don’t, either because of physical reasons or mental ones.

Mel never climbs to the top; sometimes, she just stands in their camp, staring at the cliff face. It’s nowhere near as high as the one you pulled her off of all that time ago, Finn and Murphy pulling you up. It feels like a dream, now. You know to her, it feels like a nightmare.

Unsurprisingly, Mel has a fear of heights. Monroe had tried to teach her to climb trees for lookout- it hadn’t ended well.

(Mel had a panic attack, crying for the first time about all she had lost that day, the only survivor of her station, her friend Sterling. She cried because she hadn’t been the only one clinging to that cliff, at first; you learn there had been three other people who, one by one, lost their grip or their strength and had fallen.

You remember her telling you _I can’t hang on_ , the way her voice had been so tired and afraid but underneath, accepting. Like at some point, hanging off the cliff, she had accepted she would die.

She never let go, though, not until you were there to catch her and carry her off the cliff. It's your job to catch them when they fall)

Instead, she had gathered together the food and leather to wrap it in. They use the leather they traded the Grounders for- they’ve been trying to produce their own skins, but Lincoln and Echo were warriors and even Monroe’s boyfriend only got as far as turning wool into yarn before he was trained for the goatherd, and even with directions and tools and practical demonstrations, it’s hard. So far, no skin has turned out completely right, holes and rips, parts they didn’t preserve right turned rotten.

In a whole, the project is a success, and decent practice for the future buildings and houses they hope to build, soon. One more step in Camp Sekansi’s birth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 86\. in regards to Wick: Raven is not dating him. At most he is the guy she occasionally uses to release sexual tension, but mostly he is just the dude who lends them stuff on occasion, when they need it.


	16. 91-95

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the second last chapter of this. It's been an incredibly wild ride, and I can pretty much guarantee it's not over. I have way too much fun with this universe to stop

91\. Belong (Bellamy)

You never had girlfriends on the Ark, not really. There were girls who held your hand and shared their beds and called you _boyfriend_ , but they never knew _you_ , were never let into your family quarters or your heart. 

It wasn’t out of lack of love to give; you had so much love in you, have always had it- enough to dedicate your love and life and even your death, someday maybe, to a hundred random teenagers who looked to you with hopeful, faithful eyes- but then, way back before, it was all dedicated to your mother and sister.

And then your mother was dead and your sister was gone, and the family quarters were all yours. You weren’t a promising future guard, just a lowly janitor, but your face was the same and your body was the same and there were girls. None of those girls called you anything, though, rarely spent the night and didn’t ever hold your hand.

Now you look down on the two women who call you theirs: the way Bree’s smooth, unmarked skin contrasts against Echo’s tattoos, scars, callouses. Bree’s hands have hardened since they landed, her face darker from the sun and her skin wind-chapped, but it’s nothing like Echo’s lifelong hard living that shows on every inch of her.

Now, she reaches her hand out for yours, and there’s nothing to stop you but a call that hasn’t been made from those on patrol, so you take it, twine your fingers between Echo’s, and let her pull you in.

.

92\. Build (Harper)

“I bet you we can build a house before you.”

Lincoln, standing behind Octavia, sighs, resigned.

Bellamy raises his brows incredulously. “I have Bree _and_ Echo to build our house. It's just you and Lincoln for yours.”

Octavia scoffed. “Yeah, I have _Lincoln_. And you seriously think no one's going to help us?” She gestured to the gathered crowd of Sekansi.

Everyone looked at each other, and then-

Everyone chose a side. And that was how Camp Sekansi spent a month chopping lumber, sawing and sanding wood, and glaring at the opposing side.

Clarke and Commander Lexa returned from their diplomatic trip to Polis nearly two weeks in, stopping and staring in confusion at the passive-aggressive sawing and building that was going on.

“I was gone less than a month.” Clarke said flatly, before looking to you. “Harper, what the hell?”

“Octavia bet Bellamy she could get _her_ house built before Bellamy could. It's turned into a group exercise.”

“Banranna,” the Commander cut in. “That's our word for it. When a village all gathers to help build someone else's property.”

Clarke shot her a sardonic look. “Do _banrannas_ usually turn into contests?”

“No,” the Commander told her, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Like many things, that would be unique to your Sekansi, I believe.”

(Octavia won, and Bellamy pouted about it until his own home was finished.

The whole thing started again a week later)

.

93\. Ask (Bellamy)

You only know it’s going to happen because before it does, Octavia comes to Echo.

Lincoln’s gone out of camp for the day with a hunting party, while O had to stay in with a sprained ankle. The second he’s out of camp, your sister is at Echo’s side- and, when she asks “Echo, can I talk to you about something?” she doesn’t look at you and add _alone_.

Echo nods, gestures for Octavia to sit and moves a crate with uncarded wool resting on top close enough for her bad ankle to prop up on. “What do you wish to speak about?” she asks.

Octavia hesitates for a moment, glancing at you, and as much as you want to know what has your sister so nervous, you offer, “I can leave you two alone…”

“No, it’s fine,” she assures you. “I’d have to tell you later. I’m just-” she inhales, takes a moment to collect her thoughts. “Okay. Echo. On the Ark, we had- when people loved each other, and wanted to spend their lives together, they’d get married.”

This is approximately when your eyes go so wide they nearly pop out of your skull, but Octavia isn’t looking at you. She’s staring determinedly at her own hands as she continues.

“It was a thing from before the war, but I thought maybe it was like Christmas- maybe only one of us kept it. So, I thought, before I ask Lincoln to marry me, I’d check if he knew what that was.”

There’s a strange choking sound at the words ‘ask Lincoln to marry me’, and it takes you a second to realize it’s you. The girls ignore you.

Echo's smile is somewhere between amused and soft. “We call it a binding,” she tells your baby sister- the one who's not a baby anymore, you realize with a start. She's nineteen, now, a warrior in her own right, a woman who had killed and loved and lost, survived and thrived in this world where so many of them- didn't.

Octavia will always be the infant you held in your arms, the toddler you nursed through fevers, the little girl you taught to write and read and sang to sleep. She'll never stop being your little sister- but she's so much more than that, too.

“So he'll know what I mean, if I say marriage?” She checks.

“Yes,” Echo agrees. “The Trikru might have slightly different customs than my people, I'm not sure, but- he'll know that word. He'll know what you mean.”

“And he'll say yes,” you add. Octavia looks up at you, her eyes wide. “He looks at you like people used to look at Earth, up on the Ark. He'll say yes.”

Her lips turn up in a hesitant smile. “You think so?”

You stand, stepping forward to pull your sister into your arms, pressing a kiss against her hair. “Definitely. He'd have to be an idiot not to.” When her arms come up to wrap around you, you tell her softly. “I'm so happy you guys found each other.”

Lincoln says yes; he is not an idiot. Your baby sister doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the week.

.

94\. Reward (Octavia)

When the first of the Sekansi approached you to ask if you would teach them Grounder fighting- hand to hand dirtier than the self defence they taught on the Ark, weapons other than guns- you had tried. You had done your best to channel Indra’s cool competence, Lincoln’s gentle corrections, Lexa’s leadership. You had tried, and you hadn’t failed _too_ badly, but the truth of it was you were still a Second, still in training yourself, and it wasn’t in your skill set.

“Would you hate it if I sent everyone to you for fighting lessons?” you ask Lincoln that night, curled around him

His chest moves as he laughs softly. “It wasn't that bad.”

You almost don't bother lifting your head to give him a disbelieving look. “Bree nearly took out Masayo's eye and Sikta stabbed themself.” 

Lincoln, the traitor, just presses a kiss to the top of your head, trying to hold back more laughter. “It takes time to learn,” he points out. “But I can help you teach them. Like I taught you.”

With a smile, you move to straddle him. “Hopefully not _exactly_ like you taught me. I'd get jealous.”

He gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning up for a kiss, and promises, “No. That's only for you.”

.

95\. Binding (Clarke)

The ceremony is the first of it's kind to be preformed, though it won't be the last. A combination of the Grounder binding ceremony and the Ark's wedding traditions, their cultures differing wildly in some aspects and in others surprising them with similarities, although it shouldn't. It was the North American countries that influenced the Ark most, and the Grounders are, after all, remains of the North American people. 

Grounders don't wear rings, they get tattoos- so Octavia and Lincoln have their ring fingers marked with the traditional ink; their faces are painted like they're going to battle, only in bright colours instead of the warrior's black, and Octavia is her own Something Blue. It turns out, actually, that the 'something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue' has lasted with the Grounders as well. The difference is, everyone getting married splits the four things between them, so Lincoln is in charge of having something borrowed and something new, while Octavia covers the something blue- herself- and something old.

Bouquets weren't possible on the Ark- they didn't grow flowers unless those flowers had a use, and if they did, they couldn't waste them like that. But when Octavia is handed one by one of the seconds, there isn't any explanation needed. She knows what it is from books and movies seen on the Ark, and she gives the boy such a huge, joyful smile, the boy blushes before scampering away, pleased.

Neither of their people have used wedding dresses or tuxedos in many years, the white too easily stained and none of it practical enough anyways, but Octavia wears a loose blue dress to match her face paint, with her machete on her back and simple, light armour around her torso, and Lincoln looks at her like she's the moon. When their hands are tied together, a long strip of cloth wrapping around their intertwined fingers, they lean forward and whisper promises to each other.

At the end, when they've made their vows and confirmed they want to be with each other, they demonstrate one more tradition that survived with both their people- the first married kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banranna- taken from the term 'barn-raising', the practice of a community getting together to help someone put up a building.


	17. 96-100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that happy ending finally gets fullfilled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand it's done! Well, the 100 drabbles are, this universe certainly isn't. I just love it too much to let it go
> 
> Content warnings  
> -teenage pregnancy  
> -mention of execution of pregnant people  
> -infant death  
> -talk of infant exposure

96\. Village (Raven)

It takes a surprising amount of time for Camp Sekansi to start on its second generation, honestly. Without the resources of the Ark, those who required it had been using the less reliable Grounder contraceptives, and besides which- Camp Jaha had its fair share of infants already, and you haven't been in a Grounder village yet that doesn't have children. The youngest at Camp Sekansi is sixteen, now, and that has made you the only place besides war camps you've seen without kids (and the war camps only because you can't think of even the youngest of the Seconds as children, you just can't. Sometimes childhood has nothing to do with years lived or breaths taken, and everything to do with years you don't have left and the heartbeats skipped in fear. 

You told Abby, once, that Clarke stopped being a kid the day she hit the ground. You wonder if those born _on_ the ground ever even get to start.)

That won't be true much longer, if Clarke, Abby, Lincoln, and the Grounder healer, Nyko, aren't all wrong about Mischa's pregnancy and how it's advancing healthily and normally. It's actually possible, you reflect, that you're all maybe a bit nervous. Probably more nervous than Mischa herself, who's frickin' _glowing_ these days.

It's like Clarke says, one night when you're all eating together. With how all of you are family- strange, incestuous, multicultural family- it's like this kid is going to be all of yours.

Lexa nods wisely when her partner expresses this. “En stegeda fo bing op goufa,” she offers.

“It takes the village to raise the child.” Octavia translates.

“Didn’t we have a saying like that up on the Ark?” Jasper asks.

“‘It takes a village to raise a child’, yeah. Guess it’s true. ” Monty decides.

Lexa inclines her head. “No one, two, or even three parents can hope to teach a child everything they need, nor hope to be able to provide them with all they need. But having fifty adoptive parents to share the job with…”

“Makes it a little easier,” you finish, thinking of the woman who made you dinner and tucked you in and helped you with your homework- it wasn't _your_ mom, that's for sure. It was Finn's, actually. Mrs. Collins had been a sweet woman with a mischievous sense of humour who always had a story to tell her son and the girl next door he was best-friends with.

Mrs. Collins had died when they were sixteen, leaving Finn an orphan and you as good as one. You could have used a few more adoptive parents.

Mischa's going to be a good mom, much better than yours had been. But you still think this kid'll be lucky to have all of you.

If the saying survived all the way from the ground to the Ark and back again to find it'd survived in Trigedasleng down here, too, it must be damn accurate.

It's gonna take the whole village, whether the kid likes it or not.

.

97\. Hide (Clarke)

Manda wasn’t yet seventeen when her birth control device failed and her boyfriend got her pregnant.

Legal pregnancy on the Ark was eighteen and above, so she kept it a secret. Her boyfriend left her, her parents were dead, and without the added rations for pregnant people, she got sick. So she turned to stealing.

Manda kept it up until she was eight months along- when she tells you this, you’re impressed. You had stolen medicine for sick friends a handful of times, smuggled out other supplies, but growing up daughter of the head doctor you had seen more than one person caught stealing from medical, while at the same time making your own rule breaking safer- unlike Manda. It was risky all on its own, but to do so as a teenager, all alone in life, hiding a growing pregnancy? She deserves some kind of award.

But after seven months, she got caught.

(you almost wish you hadn’t already been in the Sky-Box by that point. Wish you had known, wish you had been able to help her. You don’t know if the desire is because now, today, as she tells you about all of this, she’s one of your people, your _family_ , and so you would do anything to keep her safe. You look into her eyes, still innocent after all her loss and pain, on the Ark and on the ground, and think you probably would have helped her even when she was a stranger)

She went to the Sky-Box, then, and apparently there was some controversy over what to do about the pregnancy. If it had been an adult who already had one kid, who had been caught at that stage, they would of been floated, life inside them and all. But she was five months past seventeen, at that point, and due to pop months before it was legal to float her. Late stage abortion, against her will? At 32 weeks, the baby could, in theory, be born and live. Wait for her to give birth in the Sky-Box? What to do with the baby then? Leave them with Manda to raise until she turned eighteen, then continue to keep the growing child in lock up? The birth was, after all, illegal- much like Octavia’s. Would they keep the kid in the Sky-Box their entire life, born and raised on death row? Or would they take the newborn and find parents for them? The system for orphaned children on the Ark was dubious at best, but a newborn might have better chances of finding parents willing to take them in than an older kid. The entire thing was a mess of ethical questions and realism; by that point, they had already decided to send the Hundred to the ground, were just working on the bracelets and dropship. Could they send an infant down there, to presumably die of radiation poisoning, and if not, hunger and exposure?

It took the counsel over a week to decide, and by then it was too late.

Manda went into labor at 10pm on a Tuesday night. Thursday, at 3am, her son was born, premature and gasping.

Between her lack of proper nutrition during pregnancy, how young the baby was, and, most importantly, the quickly disappearing oxygen levels, the boy’s undersized lungs couldn’t suck in enough air. He died before Friday.

Two weeks after that, they were loaded onto the dropship and sent to the ground.

Your first reaction is horror, sadness; you saw more than one preemie baby die, on the Ark, and it was always heartbreaking, but this feels different, worse. Your second is concern- she had barely been two weeks postpartum when they landed, she must have had discomfort, exhaustion, if not outright pain and infection from the birth and lactation without anyone drinking or removing the milk, but she never came to you with medical problems.

“Bellamy excused me from any real hard work, or anything that hurt too much. It wasn’t that bad,” she assures you.

“God, Manda, I’m so sorry. About all of it.” Your words feel underwhelming in the wake of her story- a story everyone else seems to already know, and you guess they probably did, firsthand. Manda was the last person- other than Wells- to be arrested before they sent them down to the ground. They were all in the Sky-Box with her when she gave birth. Only you, locked away in solitary, missed it.

“I know,” she says with a soft, sad smile. “But that’s why I’m scared for Mischa.”

Right. The cause for this whole conversation: Manda had been acting odd, ever since Mischa had announced she was having a baby, only getting more strange as the other woman began showing. The closed she got to her due date, the more terrified Manda seemed.

You take her hand gently, giving her the space to pull away if she wants. “I can’t promise everything will be okay with Mischa’s pregnancy, and the baby,” you begin. “Nothing’s 100% with pregnancy, or giving birth, or newborns. Not even with the full nutrition and extra, _extra_ medical care she’s getting.” That makes the both of you smile- the past five months have seemed like a revolving door of your mother and Grounder healers checking in on Mischa. You feel like maybe you should be insulted that they don’t trust you’re giving her proper care, but you’re too relieved for the help. “But I swear to you, we are doing everything possible to make it go as smoothly and healthily as possible. Ark _and_ Grounder medicine. Anything there is _to_ be done is _being done_. Okay?”

When she nods, you squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back. You wonder what your mom had thought they should do with Manda’s son, if he had lived. You wonder if he would have survived everything that happened after they had been sent down here, if the young baby would have made it down in the crashing Ark stations, if he would have been on one of the ones that survived. If he could have handled the fall and impact. If Manda would have been reunited with her son.

It’s useless wondering, a pointless fairytale that can only cause pain to consider. 

You can see on Manda’s face she’s wondering the exact same thing.

.

98\. New (Clarke)

Mischa’s baby is born with six fingers on her left hand, three of them fused together. Nyko is attending the birth as well as Lincoln, and he exchanges a look with the other man.

“No,” Lincoln says, flat, while Abby hands the baby to Mischa.

Nyko’s voice is equally flat. “It’s mutated.”

“Sky People don’t think our way. It’s just a hand.”

You look between them, sparing a glance to your mother, who asks, “What’s this about?”

Lincoln gives the other healer a look, but he’s already speaking. “It’s wrong. We leave those who are wrong out for nature.”

It’s something you knew, and likely Mischa did as well, but your mom obviously didn’t. “That’s barbaric,” she exclaims. Lincoln gives her a hard look.

“It’s how we’ve survived. The horses, the deer, all the animals, their mutations are rampant. Ours are not.” His expression softens as he looks at Mischa cradling the child. “But it's a new world.”

Mischa trails her fingers over the baby’s mutated hand. “How bad will her life be?”

Your mom purses her lips. “I’d need to examine her further, but likely, I can separate the fingers. I don’t know how much she’d be able to use them, but-”

“All our people will shun her.” Nyko warns.

“Most of them already do,” the new mother mutters, speaking an uncomfortable truth many of them don't like to think about.

For all they have Grounders who are friends and even _family_ , for all the villages around this area have tentatively welcomed them in after they had helped defend them from raids and rebuild after storms, it's a ridiculously small area compared to the amount of land populated by various clans and villages- however sparsely- and most of those, without the Coalition, would wipe them out if they came across them. Some of them might still try.

“Our people won't,” you tell Mischa, then smile a bit. “She's being raised by a village of delinquents. We're all outcasts here.”

That gets a smile from most in the room, and a tired laugh from Mischa.

“Okay,” your mom says, “I think its time we let mom get some rest. She won't be getting much for the next twelve years, at least.”

Outside, there are fifteen people waiting for news. The rest, you know, are sulkily doing their duties for the day, wanting to be right here.

You also know they all heard the baby's cry, but they still all sigh in relief anyways when you smile and announce it's a healthy girl.

.

99\. Adopt (Clarke)

The first time it happens, they come in the middle of the night.

By the time they make their way to their into your camp, Monroe has already raised the alarm and they’re awake, just in time to meet the three Grounders, a woman and two men huddled together, a bundle in the women’s arms and tears on her face.

When they see you and Bellamy approaching, she speaks. “We heard one of your people had a child. That it was mutated. That you kept it, and her.”

Bellamy turns to look at you, and you can see in his eyes he knows where this is going before the bundle in the woman’s arms starts crying.

It’s Jones who steps forward, then, and before he realizes what’s happening the baby is in his arms. He stares at it, an openly bewildered look on his face, but he rocks it a little to hush the crying, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

The woman steps back, still crying. The man clears his throat. “He’s two days old. We put off leaving him out for as long as we could, but…”

“Please,” the woman pleads. “Please take our son. Please don’t make me sacrifice my own child.”

Jones, holding the baby like it’s a bomb- a very well liked bomb- looks back at you and Bellamy. You can’t read the look in his eyes in the dark, but there’s really only one option, here.

“Don’t worry,” you tell the new parents. “He’s safe here.”

Echo has crept out behind Bellamy without him noticing, and when she speaks he jumps, a little. “I swear to you, they- we- will treat him as our own.”

Within the year, two more infants are left with them.

.

100\. Goodbye (Clarke)

When the fifth anniversary of their falling from the sky and crashing to the earth comes around, they realize that because of crises or war or plain old day to day business, they've never marked the day the first Ark-born person set foot on the ground.

It’s not like they don’t have celebrations, or yearly holidays; Unity Day has been celebrated every year- complete with Monty’s special Unity Juice- it being the perfect example of different groups of people putting down their weapons and living peacefully, something the Arkers want to demonstrate and everyone else wants to use as an excuse to party; there’s been Christmas, every Long Night since that first one you missed, and, less regularly, the Sekansi will celebrate the other three _Sosik’s_ , usually at a neighbouring Grounder village. Camp Jaha marks the day the Ark hit the ground.

(Camp Sekansi doesn’t. The day the Ark came down to earth was the day of the battle. They lost too many people, that day, for it to be anything but a day of mourning)

Lincoln’s the one who points out that the five year mark is coming up- Lincoln, who watched the dropship come down, who was quickly assigned to watch them, collect information about them and report back to his people- and for the first time, they are at true peace when the second week of September rolls around, no war or illness or other chaos that would keep them from marking the day, not even preparation for winter- they've got it down pat by now. So, they make plans for a whole day of remembrance and celebration.

The remembrance comes first; they all wake at dawn, every surviving member of the former Hundred, Mischa’s daughter and the abandoned, mutated children they’ve taken in, and, of course, Lincoln and Echo; even Lexa is here today, her calloused hand twined with yours until she falls back for Bellamy to take his place by your side- the Commander isn’t a leader, here, not today- and as the painted sky of dawn fades to early morning blue, they begin their pilgrimage to the place where it all began.

During the walk, everyone collects things- flowers, leaves, small stones, occasionally showing off their finds to each other in quiet, respectful tones as the dawn turns to blue sky of early morning, and the murmur of voices is barely louder than the everyday sounds of the forest. This is part of the remembering, and it feels too much like a funeral march to disturb the silence.

The dropship itself is still slightly charred looking, though the area around it has long since grown back green and living, more so than it ever did when they lived here; no sign of a hundred-odd teenagers trampling the ground or fire-pits left smouldering.

They visit the graveyard first, the piles of dirt that once marked them grown over with grass and other plants, but between their memories and the way the ground is has dented slightly, the ones with bodies in them covered in grass and flowers growing more healthily- even young trees growing up over some of them- they can identify the burial places of their friends.

The grave-markers are placed, then, sheets of metal carved with names and epitaph that they've been working on for the past few weeks, one for every person lost; even the empty graves get one.

(Lexa looks away when Raven puts a marker with the name _Finn_ in the ground. You doubt, by Grounder law, that he's allowed to be marked in death. She lets them have this anyways.)

When it's done, once every person they lost before and to the battle has been marked- as well as Fox and Zvezda, which is how you find out they had buried the bodies they could find belonging to the Hundred who had died in Mount Weather here- even the bodies they never recovered from the Reapers, Leyton, Tab, and Casta, have had markers put by the symbolic graves had had been dug for them as well, they put the things they collected around the graves, leaving gifts and offerings for the dead.

The dead out number them, now. You remember when they left this camp and their graves seemed so numerous. There's over twice as many markers, now.

But they can't stay in the graveyard forever, and eventually, with the noon sun hanging high and warm above them, they move forward to the dropship.

They lay out deerskin's and the woven blankets they've traded for from the Grounder villages and caravans of traders that have come through and pull out their lunch, spreading around.

“When in the day did you land?” Echo asks curiously as she begins eating.

Bellamy shrugs. “Probably a bit earlier in the morning,” he mused. “We had enough time to run around like complete lunatics before we figured we should put out the forest fire. And we weren't being all that serious about doing _that_ either, but by sunset we had mostly all of it out and were collecting firewood.”

“That first sunset, I thought the sky was on fire,” Monroe remembers. “It was the strangest thing I'd ever seen.”

“A sunset was strange?” Lexa asks curiously.

You smile, lean into her side. “The sky- or what passes for sky in space, which is honestly just _space_ \- never changes colour. It's just the darkest part of night sky on and on no matter what time of day. Except we could see Earth.”

She thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “A sunset would be quite strange, then.”

They share more memories of their first days down, before people had started dying and things had gotten far more serious. About climbing trees and being terrified and bewildered by insects and annoyed by early morning birdsong (your heard twangs painfully at a memory of a boy with a wide smile and long brown hair whistling back at them) and eating foods they'd never tasted before.

You're sitting between Lexa and Bellamy, Echo, Bree, Octavia, Lincoln, and Raven clustered around, Monty is sitting nearby with Miller, Jasper, Harper, Monroe, and Hadya, and Mischa and her daughter are sitting with Manda and the mutant boy she claimed as her own, a couple of the others who've taken a special fondness for their camp's adopted children hanging around as well, and all the others, laying back and stretching and eating and talking and laughing and _living_.

When they had first opened the dropship door, not one of them had known if they'd survive five seconds. It's been five years.

You close your eyes and lean your face towards the sun.


End file.
